A Fox Amongst The Wolves
by jerseydanielgibson
Summary: Marshal Sam Collins has moved to the biggest challenge in her life; creating a Marshal's Office on the Citadel itself. Tensions run high as a young woman stands stalwart against bigotry and oppression amongst the predators in the stars to represent her kind. Can an Autistic Savant cop prove to the galaxy what a human can do, or end up the fox amongst a pack of hungry wolves?
1. Prelude, I

_Mass Effect is owned by Them. You know who Them are. Umbrella… wait, sorry, that's_ another _story of mine…_

Author's Note: Welcome back to the Peacemaker Series! New Story! New Players! And a whole host of crazy to feast your eyes upon.

Previously on the Peacemaker Series, 'Where The Law Stands Tall'…

Marshal Sam Collins, the Marshal of Therum, began as a Deputy investigating possible smugglers. Her investigation using Mass Relay Data had her finding the destination of said smugglers; a planet called Revan in the Thermopile System. Unfortunately, the facility was a lot more than what it seemed; a baby farm to grow slaves from several races with the use of fertility drugs to maximize the numbers. Thankfully, Sam had help in the form of three Council Agents; Nihlus Kryik, Tela Vasir, and Jondum Bau. Together, they stopped the House of Horrors and arrested the person responsible, Doctor Saelon. Sam was shot in the process, but made a recovery onboard the SSV Marco Polo.

Following that, Sam went to Therum to arrest her boss, Marshal Bart Weathers, who was involved and committing treason, and took over his job with the help of a Naval Security Team. Conducting an investigation to help arrest the guilty and protect mankind from unwarranted implications, Sam Collins filled in the shoes as the Marshal of Therum, getting cooperation from the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation with the aid of a Naval Security Team and Battle Group _Moctezuma_. She also arrested Nico Dekker, the crime boss and President of the Planetary Brotherhood of Teamsters. Along with him, she arrested known terrorist Garm Jor'raddah, a Batarian extremist and a part of the Alliance's Top Twenty-Five Most Wanted.

A Batarian invasion fleet comes to Therum with the intent of rescuing Garm Jor'raddah, who is the right-hand man of the Ministry of Peace in the Batarian Hegemony, as well as conducting the most massive slave raid to date. With the help of Battle Group _Moctezuma_ , Naval Security Teams, Marines, and seven SPECTREs, they were able to throw off the Batarians as Citadel Fleets came to the colony's aid. The story ends with the knowledge that Sam is moving up in the galaxy, getting the great big gig in the Citadel; Marshal of the Citadel.

And now we move to the sequel. You lucky bastard, you.

* * *

ARC 0: Preludes, I

 **Dock 54B, Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream, June 3, 2175**

The Military Transport Cargo-130A landed at the appropriate docking bay as gimbals moved to 'catch' the sixty-person transportation vessel meant to move military members from various points in Systems Alliance Space, one of the easiest methods for a human being to move from one end of Earth Space to another without the messiness of civilian transportation, security checks, a multi-pass, or even paying. The method of transportation, having been called Space A for centuries now, was the Systems Alliance Navy's answer for moving whomever they needed to a variety of locations without having to wait days or weeks for available seating upon civilian transports, not to mention that every MTC-130 came armed with GARDIAN lasers and swivel MA guns for defense, unlike its civilian counterparts. It wasn't unusual that members of the government, both Systems Alliance and EarthGov, used Space A for traveling purposes to avoid having their itineraries known and distributed by the many information brokers and intelligence services that the galaxy held. While it wasn't widely known, the MTC-130 was responsible for some eight percent of human transportation needs in and around Alliance Space.

Coming off of this particular one was Alliance Federal Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins.

Sam stepped off the ramp of the military transportation vessel, her booted feet hitting station deck as she officially landed on Arcturus Station, affectionally known as the Arc throughout Alliance Space. She was one of many debarking the transport, most in uniform, be it Systems Alliance Naval Sailors or Marines, their blue Battle Duty Uniforms pegging their branches by the shades they wore; Navy Blue for Navy, and Royal Blue for Marines. Sam herself wore her customary uniform; a black sports blazer over a buttoned shirt, black slacks held by a Sam Browne belt, topped with her Western Gentleman cowboy hat and her black cowboy boots. She had gotten more than a fair share of looks and stares from the various Sailors and Marines, most of them Seamen and Privates in rank, but one or two of the older, higher-ranking kind seemed to know that whomever she was, she was important enough to merit a berth from the Helios System where Earth resided to the Arc. Now that she had arrived at the Arc, Sam realized that her life was once again going to be completely different.

She had a very important meeting to attend to.

Shouldering her duffel bag, the Marshal walked down the gangplank that led from landing pad to the Docks itself, resembling something similar to a civilian spaceport, though with less confusion thanks to the military structure of rank and making really obvious signs so that Seamen and Privates had no excuses on why they got lost. Moving along with the variety of members with the SA Military, Sam was conscious that she was being eyeballed by a Marine Sergeant that was walking alongside her, his eyes touching where her Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver rested in its mag-lock Kylex holster on her left hip before looking at her. His eyes had hit upon the badge she wore on her jacket, the five-pointed star set inside a border with the word 'MARSHAL' engraved upon it, to better identify what she was. She looked back at the Sergeant staring at her, and he gave her a tentative nod of respect. He might not know whom she was, but evidently she was whatever he expected an Alliance Federal Marshal to be.

A Federal Marshal… she was playing with the big boys now.

There were many different rates in the Alliance Marshal Services Office, but really only four ranks; Deputy, Frontier Marshal, Federal Marshal, and then Staff Marshal. Deputies were the bread-and-butter of the Marshal Service, the men and women who put boot-to-ass against those who broke the law, upholding the law and justice throughout Earth Alliance Space. The rank-and-file could be found at any Alliance post, outpost, settlement, colony, town, or city, and were the largest branch of law enforcement in both the Systems Alliance and EarthGov.

Frontier Marshals were the next step up, a position of authority and responsibility that ran an office covering a swath of jurisdiction. In some cases, it would be a town or a territory, though in other places one could be responsible for an entire planet or even more. As the Marshal of Therum, Sam had technically been responsible for the entirety of the Artemis Tau Cluster, though Therum was where the colonies were located. Since the entire population had been less than a quarter of a million, the responsibility had been hers, as it had been for her predecessor, Marshal Bartholomew Weathers, before she had slapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists for his actions involving the House of Horrors, and later high treason. Bart was now vacationing in Venus for his crimes, given a sentence that sent him to the penal colony upon that hellhole in which he would never leave.

After that there was the Federal Marshals. While Deputies and Frontier Marshals were more visible and most recognized, the Federal Marshals were the ones that people were wary of. Responsible for the law of the _entirety_ of Earth Alliance Space, as well as that of any domicile a human lives in, Federal Marshals had a jurisdiction that enveloped the entire _galaxy_ … technically. They were the traveling lawmen that hunted down those who escaped justice, dogged investigators that could cover crimes that spandex planets and systems, and bring back anyone who was upon any wanted list for any species in the name of civil protection. Only two organizations enjoyed such leeway; the Asari Order of Divine Justice and Retribution, its members known as Justicars, and the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, Agents of the Galactic Council known as SPECTREs. If Sam wished to do so, she could walk into the worst cesspool in the galaxy and start picking off bounties and the wanted… if she didn't mind kicking a few hornets' nests in the process.

The last rank were the Staff Marshals, which were the ones who mostly worked in Headquarters on Earth, though there were a couple stationed on the Arc as well. For the most part, they were the ones that kept track of it all, organizational in nature and reviewing laws, cases, and conduct. Those were the ones that handled the cases sent to Earth, like what Sam had sent off pertaining to Bart Weathers and almost the entirety of her Office when she purged it back in Therum. And when she arrested Nico Dekker and sent him back to Earth to stand trial. And finally Garm Jor'raddah, Batarian terrorist, extremist, and evidently Senior Deputy of the Ministry of Peace for the Batarian Hegemony. No doubt each of those sent waves through the home office, and she had been solely responsible for all of them. When the Acting Director of Marshal Services first met her three days prior, he had shaken her hand not out of politeness, but out of respect. Of course, she was the reason he had his job considering his boss had been forced to resign over the House of Horrors and negligence over letting Bart Weathers commit high treason for four years while on his watch.

Sam filtered through the arrival dock with only her carry-on duffel bag, the checked-in bag that she had to be picked up by a liaison as she threaded through the many members of the Alliance military heading towards their various commands and destinations as she herself headed towards the ArcTram, the electromagnetic rail that encircled the Stanford Torus making it easier for members and visitors of the Arc to reach their destination faster. The Marshal boarded the next Tram, seeing that her destination was only a couple of stops away, marked 'SAG Wing.' Sam's eyes darted through the Tram, noting the heavy military presence, but also the sight of Ministry employees, family members, and even visitors. The Arc was, after all, the first and last line of defense for Mankind.

And she was going to walk into the heart of it.

Collins disembarked the ArcTram when it arrived at the appropriate station, the marked SAG Wing Platform defended by no less than twenty Systems Alliance Marines at clearly marked checkpoints, inspecting identifications and itineraries. Beyond the checkpoint was the heart of the Alliance; the Systems Alliance Government itself, where the President, her Ministry members, the Parliament, and the Justices ruled mankind in the stars. Sam showed her MultiPass to a Marine Corporal, flanked by two Private First Classes armed with Hadne-Keder M500 Storm Shotguns for anyone who decided compliance wasn't necessary. Her pass got looked at, as well as the badge clipped onto her jacket and the revolver on her hip. Thankfully, she was allowed to enter military and government installations armed as a law enforcement agent, so sliding the card through the scanner confirmed her credentials and allowed her to pass through the old-school metal cylindrical turnstile that could and would trap even a Krogan with the press of a button. Sam had no such issues as she pushed her way through and began walking right into the halls of power that laid in the heart of the Systems Alliance.

She had a meeting in one of the rooms, after all.

\- A Fox Amongst The Wolves -

"This is Senator Michael Dorn with the Parliamentary Sub-Committee of Extrasolar Affairs, calling to meeting number zero-six-zero-three-seven-five." An older human male of about sixty years wearing the normal garb of a politician sat at a raised bench, a silver-mane'ed man flanked by six others at the long-benched table of the panel. Marshal Sam Collins sat at a table in front of the panel, a microphone in front of her as well as a common AppleCorps iPad in front of her for any information she wished to jot down or files she wished to look up in front of her if needed. Beside her were two people to either side of her, equally in chairs and armed with the same tools. One was Assistant Director Walter Skinner, the Assistant Director of the Office of Naval Intelligence; the Alliance's go-to intelligence agency, who held a military rank of Rear Admiral for his position despite being a civilian. He was dressed smartly in a suit of somber colors and the classic black tie. The other was Staff Marshal Emilio Torres, Director of Extra-Alliance Jurisdictions for the Systems Alliance Marshal Services, the man responsible for Federal Marshals and those who committed crimes against humanity (human or other) outside of Earth Alliance Space. He, like her, was dressed in the Marshal's uniform; black blazer over a white dress shirt, black bola with a clasp, blue jeans and boots, and a black Stetson that was resting on the table instead of on his head. Like most men in the Marshal Services, Marshal Torres had grown a mustache to reinforce the Western look, a Fu Manchu that was thick enough to climb up. Both were here for her. "Presiding before us are Federal Marshal Samantha Collins, Staff Marshal Emilio Torres, and Rear Admiral (lower half) Walter Skinner. Upon the docket will be the decision to grant the Citadel Council's request for Marshal Collins to perform duties for the Citadel Council outside of Alliance Jurisdiction in a capacity that may extend beyond the Alliance Charter and duties of the Systems Alliance Marshal Services. Senator Burchard?"

"Thank you, Senator Dorn." Senator Cynthia Burchard replied, an older woman whose handsome face announced her mid-life age and wisdom. Senator Burchard was the elected representative of Elysium, and had been since the colony's founding. Few in Parliament had her clout, and her voice was certainly a make-or-break in any deal. "Good day, Officers. As this is a Sub-Committee inquest, I will let you know now that this is neither a trial nor are any of you being prosecuted. This is to determine whether or not going forth with installing a Marshal on the Citadel is a feasible idea, as well as the no-doubt public relations hit we'll undoubtedly take no matter how good or bad a job anyone does." Marshal Sam Collins sat in her chair with her hands resting on the table in front of her, her fingers interlocked. She had never been to an informal inquest, though she had studied up on it beforehand to better understand what she was getting into and how to respond to questions. It was really not much more than a panel of well-educated, well-connected people who were going to gauge her by her answers to their questions. "Marshal Collins, first of all I would like to thank you for your service upon Therum and all that you did there. I would be hard-pressed to think of a person who has accomplished so much in as little time as you have."

"Thank you, Senator Burchard." Sam nodded her head respectfully, understanding that simple answers were often better ones.

"To begin," The older woman continued, "the Citadel has extended to us an offer for your services, Marshal, citing that you showed a skill that they would find accommodating. The issue isn't with the offer, for you wouldn't be the first person to be asked by a Citadel Agency to work for them. The issue is that we will effectively lose you in the process, and given recent history, that isn't something we much look forward to." Sam didn't make a noise, but understood where the Senator was alluding to. They didn't want to give up what was essentially the hero of the day to the aliens, no matter how beneficial. It wasn't racist, _per se_ , but it might be that the Alliance wasn't even aware why the Citadel wanted her. Or even whom in the Citadel. "Ambassador Doyle has worked rather tirelessly on a concession in which we both get to have our cake and eat it, too; the establishment of a Marshal's Office on the Citadel itself. Obviously, this is big."

"I understand, and I agree." It wasn't hard to see the implications. Sam knew that all the other agencies on the Citadel were, in effect, _Citadel_ agencies; they ran off the authority of those in governance on that station. There wasn't a Hierarchy law enforcement agency on the Citadel, or a Salarian intelligence service, or an Asari training house. But there was about to be a human Marshal's Office. The implications were staggering, actually. Anyone with two eyeballs and acumen in politics could see that the Citadel wanted Marshal Collins _very_ badly. Bending over backwards, politically speaking. Thankfully, such things were left in the hands of the Human Ambassador, Anita Doyle, who had, as Sam understood it, dealt with the situation with finesse and a bit of political bribery. The situation on the Citadel involving the humans living there was in a constant state of turmoil, and the idea of a Marshal's Office to help relieve the tensions there was an olive branch for both sides. It was a big deal, but it had gotten to the point that unusual and extraordinary circumstances were going to be needed. Plus, it had side benefits for Collins herself. Mostly as a cover and a base of operations.

No one else in the room knew that, though.

"So my question is… why you?"

"Why me, the Citadel? Or why me, the Marshal's Office?"

"Both." The older woman leaned forward, her face going predatory.

"Then I'll answer the first one, Senator." Marshal Collins replied, thankful once again that being Autistic had certain advantages. "A great deal of it revolves around the Revan House of Horrors and the Trail of Tears Consortium that I discovered and provided information for. I was able to locate it through discrepancies in logs, customs paperwork, tare weights, fuel consumptions, and the fact that what they were declaring wasn't really found in the system I surmised that they were going to." All of this information was factually correct, if not the exact truth. "An agency on the Citadel noted the data usage I was looking for pertaining to such things and got curious, and hacked into my terminal on Therum, noting that I was doing it in a method different than they." Again, that was factually correct. "They sent someone to investigate and interview me to find out how I was reaching my conclusions, but by that time, I has already left for Revan on what I believed at the time to be a smugglers' operation." Nothing she said was either alarming or surprising the panel of Senators.

"So when you assaulted that pisshole," Senator Dorn opened up, "you had outside assistance."

"Correct, Senator." Collins nodded. "The undercover investigator in question tracked me to Revan and notified me of their presence. We linked up and began our investigation of the House of Horrors, and as an operative of a Citadel Agency, they had the same access and information as I did. Sharing was imperative, especially when we discovered what was going on. At the time, my biggest fear was that mankind might suffer a knee-jerk backlash because of its location in Earth Alliance Space. I feared war."

"A realistic fear, and one in which we at ONI agree that Marshal Collins made the right choice." Assistant Director Walter Skinner replied, having surmised that this was his cue to speak up as a part of the Alliance intelligence community. "Any kind of deception or burial of intelligence on our behalf might have very well created that kind of scenario. Since the undercover Citadel operative was available throughout the operation and saw the same things that Marshal Collins did, withholding would have looked like guilt or involvement. We approved of her actions retroactively when we began combing through the House of Horrors ourselves in the aftermath, and have a signed referendum available from the Parliamentary Sub-Committee of Intelligence giving her the authority to do so pertaining to the House of Horrors and anything related to the investigation, to include her own Office." The Office of Naval Intelligence had saved her from a potential _faux pas_ of giving out information that could have been quite harmful if anything had been discovered pertaining to the Alliance. Collins was grateful that Director Skinner was the kind of man she saw as a worthy one; he did his job, took it seriously, and didn't let petty obstacles get in his way. "Marshal Collins sent the same intelligence to us as she did to the necessary authorities of the Citadel, and considering the massive tactical strikes they were able to enact to remove the Consortium from existence, we at ONI agree that it was the best available option; we would have never been able to strike that hard, that fast, or with that level of cooperation from others in the same manner." Again, Skinner just gave her another boon. "All in all, the whole ordeal with the Trail of Tears Consortium ended with us in a strong positive light; the worst criminal we had was Collins' predecessor aiding the Revan House of Horrors and selling patrol schedules to their transporters. The Turians, Salarians, and Asari had a lot worse representatives involved, so as far as the aliens are concerned, Marshal Weathers wasn't even a bump on the road, and we got the credit for discovering and spearheading that entire operation. We came out looking good."

"As for your second question, Senator," Collins continued when Assistant Director Skinner had nodded to her, indicating that he was done, "I will admit that my best qualification would actually be my age." That earned her a few amused glances from the panel. "I was born just before the First Contact War, and I've known about aliens as long as I've been aware. Being from an orphanage, I didn't have parents to teach me to instantly hate anything non-human. Most in my position are generally almost two decades older than I am, and have that ingrained sense of unease and distrust about them, fearing the unknown. I lack that issue, though I am not naive and immediately trust another, but having to deal with a member of another species would be easier for me than it would be someone else."

"And what of your lack of experience, Therum notwithstanding?" Senator Dorn asked, the question a good one. "As you mentioned, your contemporaries have almost two decades more experience than you yourself do. That's twenty years to learn how to be a law enforcement agent, to be a detective, to understand the intricacies of forensics, and how to run and manage a section of other fellow Officers. Now," the Senator motioned that he was going to continue to talk, "I am not downplaying the events on Therum nor your actions on Revan or your capture of Dekker and the Jackal. Those were fine moments and there isn't a person in the Alliance Government who isn't thankful for what you did. But you did make some rookie mistakes;

"First," Dorn continued, "I know that Weathers was playing everyone, but going to a planet by yourself to what you believed was a smugglers' operation was foolhardy. Two, while technically slavery is also smuggling, you were woefully unprepared in equipment to engage in any kind of operation, much less what you discovered in that Colonial Starter Kit. Three, your arrest of Nico Dekker was almost tossed out of court due to the fact that you had no arrest warrant of any kind, not to mention you shot up a nightclub, no matter how well-deserved. If you hadn't had a vid of him trying to bribe you and describing his bribery of both of your predecessors, not to mention the attack on Deputy Jessica Leveque? He would be walking a free man. Four, Garm Jor'raddah was a _lucky_ capture, and you had no idea who he was, how he arrived on Therum, or what his business was about in the first place." Sam tried not to wince at any of those, and she admitted that the Senator had very good points. "Also, you had several small series of police-oriented actions that make you look like you are reckless; stunt-flying a speed bike through a favela at maximum speed to stop a riot, and then using the Contragravity thrusters as a deterrent by pulling donuts in a small locale? Cutting off power to No'burg itself when there was every indication of a full-scale riot after Dekker's' capture? Parading Dekker and the Jackal like killed game through the middle of town for their escort, whether it was them or not? Not to mention that you were practically absent during the Battle of Therum itself when your place should have been at _your_ Marshal's Office, not in some slumhole defense checkpoint manned by SA Marines. By all accounts," Dorn continued, "you had Master Chief Valentino and Senior Chief Mason running the Office while you spearheaded the investigations on the Revan House of Horrors and Marshal Weathers, which was a smart choice, but they are both _military_ police officers, and not _civil_ police officers. There is a very sharp distinction between the two. You were at least wise enough to put a Marine Captain in charge of the Battle itself when you went _in absenia,_ as that point in time it was a military action, but by your own report, it was Captain Meer who brought up the point, not you coming to the conclusion yourself."

It was like a bell tolling.

"Senator," Marshal Torres spoke up, "while I'll admit that _some_ things could have been handled differently, we in the Marshal Services are of a different opinion." The _Latino_ man started ticking off his points. "First, Marshal Collins found somethin' wrong in the Revan case, and she went for it, plain and simple. We ain't always right on our assumptions of guilt when we go after suspects; that's what further investigations and interrogations are for. But Collins' instincts were right on the money. Two, she conducted several operations with no injuries to those under her authority, and no counts of brutality against her, which is better than most considerin' the level and hostilities she was dealing with. Three, she purged her _entire_ Office with evidence of corruption, which was our fault, and managed to preserve evidence that linked a good many parts of the Trail of Tears Consortium. Four, she led the _largest_ investigation that we had in the past decade, and her paperwork was so immaculate I heard Weather's lawyers sweatin' from it, it was that airtight. Five? She caught the guy we've been drooling over for _years_ on gettin', and Dekker's lawyers were singing 'deal' for full cooperation and to finger all the parties involved off-planet. Six? Therum is literally our worst post, and it had two corrupt Marshals headin' it, and yet Collins took over and got back to its proper standard. Seven? She literally nabbed the worst _pendejo_ we've ever caught, and she kept him safe as a bug while the Batarians practically launched a full-scale rescue mission that took more than a Fleet to ensure success. Eight, she was up in the front with her Deputies through it all, walkin' in the same dust and dirt as they were, first through the door and makin' the arrests herself. She had SA _military_ eatin' out of her hand, Eldfell-Ashland pukes eatin' out of her hand, and she put meanin' back into the words 'law and order' in No'burg. Lastly, she's our first wartime Marshal since Shanxi, and Marshal Jorgensen was found holdin' the fort in his Office while his Deputies died fightin' Turian invaders. You want qualifications? You want to know why her?" The _Latino_ man sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "She's got the rep, she's got the drive, and she don't take shit from no one, human or otherwise. Like what I expect from my _Federales_ ; do your damn job better than everyone else. I literally cannot think of anyone I would want to replace her durin' her time on Therum. Can't think of anyone else for _El Cit_ , either."

Sam, needless to say, was rather speechless. She tried not to show it.

"As for alternates?" Torres snorted, chewing the inside of his cheek. "We got Marshals that are thugs, and we got Marshals that are smart, but we don't got a lot that are both at the same time. The three that we got that are in Collins' league aren't goin' to happen. One's pushing sixty, had a heart attack last year, and is on his second liver, so that's a no. Second one absolutely _hates_ Turians, so that's a _big_ no. The last one's been at his post for some twenty years, where he met and married his wife and had kids. He's the runner up, and he's a far distant second place that has no inclination in movin' with his oldest girl 'bout to enter her Senior Year in Secondary Gymnasium. She's among the best we got, and Turians actually _like_ the Marshal Services; they see us as similar to their _Vigilus Comatatus_ , their Principal of Civil Obedience." The Staff Marshal shrugged. "We tend to get along better than just about any other branch of the SA Government, and those boys were born-and-bred to obey the law. Plus… you throw a male out there, and a Turian will likely do some Alpha posturing bullshit. Chuck a female out there though, those big boys are likely to listen, 'cuz they was raised to mind their mommas and see females as defenders of the nest. They'll give Collins the initial gram of respect a male Marshal might not get at the onset. It'd be stupid not to take advantage of that, 'specially with the way things are goin' on _El Cit_."

"Those are… interesting points." Senator Dorn nodded slowly, obviously thinking them over. "As a Staff Marshal, what would you expect out of one of your own running that kind of Office?"

"Honestly? It'd have to be someone who'd stick by their guns, so to speak." Torres replied. "We're combin' through our Deputies and lookin' for anyone that might want to make a move to a different post, while keepin' an eye on their involvements dealin' with non-humans. It's a short list, I'm afraid; not many of our boys get to deal with aliens on human colonial territories. We're also lookin' at cops on Earth, 'specially in the big cities, like Neo York and Neo Angeles, or even Tokyo-Kyoto. Somewhere with big, heavy populations and a fair 'mount of immigrants. In that? We're short-handed no matter what we do. Collins brings up a fair point though; newer generation has better relations with aliens than the older one like myself. That works in our favor, honestly. We want to be team players? We need someone who can actually manage to do that. Collins already has the experience workin' with some Citadel agents, and got them involved with the Battle of Therum. That's already in her favor, and another Marshal might have disdain that kind of thinkin'. That would have ended with somethin' worse than Mindoir if we had someone else whose first thought at foreign intervention was 'fuck them'. Her decision saved lives, a lot of lives." Torres shrugged again. "As I understand it, with her savin' Turian females and hatchlin's on Revan, the Turians are gonna like her and respect her for that. Again, be stupid not to take advantage of that."

"You mention being a team player when it came to the Citadel and its agencies." Senator Burchard picked up with another line of questions that Collins knew was going to be just as important as Senator Dorn's. "What do you believe that entails, Marshal Collins?"

"Honestly? We need to step up." Sam replied, having already worked this response out. She knew a question like this would come up. "We can't run or hide, and we can't stick our heads in the sand. If we want to look like one of the big boys, we have to prove ourselves. We're behind on the power curve, and we walked in the low man on the totem pole. The only way we're going to pull ourselves up is by showing the various species and governments that we are to be taken seriously, that we can defend our own, and that we can cooperate with others when necessary. The Volus created the current galactic market and the banking system that everyone uses, and has a very strong economy, yet they are considered a 'minor' race, as well as being a client state of the Turian Hierarchy. The Elcor haven't impressed anybody, and are practically a client state of the Asari Republic. The Hanar are just weird, and nobody takes them seriously save when it comes to anything Prothean-related. The Batarians are becoming increasingly aggressive and isolationist, and they're quickly losing their voice in the Chambers of Governance due to their actions. And we know what happened to the Quarians, the Krogan, and the Rachni." Everyone was on track with her line of thought so far. "We need to build relationships, foster some form of good will with the others. Our own history is rife with those who tried to stand separate from what was considered the common good, and they usually ended up decimated either through military action or political muscle. I don't want that happen to mankind, so we need to find chances and opportunities to show the others that while we may be new to the galactic scene, that we aren't to be underestimated. That will take time, that will take events, and that will take politics. But I believe we can do it, but it won't be through antagonizing the other races and causing undue amounts of strife, discord, and scandals."

"So what would be your plan to enact this?" Senator Dorn asked, intrigued.

"The Marshal's Office is a start," Collins answered, "as we're going to have the only non-Citadel law enforcement agency on the station. We patrol the 'Human Wards'," God she hated that term and concept, "and show them law and order; a mark of civility. As there are other law enforcement and intelligence communities available on the Citadel, we gain cooperation, but make it a two-way street. When there are incidences, we arrive, and when they need favors, we provide. The Asari and the Salarians became Full Charter Members of the Council out of creation and seniority, and only accepted the Krogan and the Turians at the aftermath of an all-out war. The only ones who had ever gotten close to being accepted as a Full Charter Member of the Council… were the Batarians." That had a few people on the panel shifting in their seats. "The Hegemony have been in the galactic scene for nearly a millennia, patrolling Citadel Space alongside the Turians as a secondary peacekeeping force. They were first among equals among the 'minor' races," God, she hated that term and concept, too, "and were listened to and heeded by the Charter Members more so than the others. It shows with the amount of colonies that they have, double of that of any of the minor races, as well as the approvals of other favors and demands that they've had over the centuries. They curried favor from the Council by doing what I suggested, and they were repaid for their line-of-thought. Now? They are quickly losing that favor since our arrival, their actions having soured their relationship with the Charter Members while we are slowly risking up in the ranks of the 'minor' races. We're getting colonies and resource planets from the Citadel Geological Survey Society, the process going faster than it has been for the Volus and the Elcor. Batarian borders and patrols are shrinking while ours are expanding. The writing's on the wall; we're currying a better spot at the dinner table, and if we keep it up, we'll have the Batarians' chair from right underneath them." Assistant Director Skinner made a pleased sound at that one. "My plan? Do what we've been doing; stay strong, drive forward, and minimize the flak."

"You certainly have an eye for politics." Senator Burchard commented, her tone amused. "Something your position calls for, and doubly so for the Citadel, I'd imagine. But it still begs to question why you are more qualified than anyone else. Say, a Special Agent of the Global Bureau of Investigations, or perhaps a Police Commissioner from one of our more established colonies or Sol System."

"To that," Skinner replied, "anyone else is going to look a puppet. Marshal Collins' was a solo act on Therum, and certainly showed the Citadel that she had no real ties to any political movements or strings from any of the other branches from EarthGov, which is a plus. Anyone else, and they're going to see a figurehead; not what we want. Also, they asked for her specifically due to her actions at Revan, which impressed them and won us a lot of good will saving babies from a multitude of species, as well as cutting the rot off with those involved. None of those others you mentioned have ever done anything close to that caliber. You include the capture of the Jackal and the Battle of Therum? They'll see another choice as a sub-par Silver Medalist who will have it three times worse than Collins' will just because they will push and push until they break. Collins has a good reputation and credibility under her belt, and they'll respect it. We're going to need it, and she's going to need it."

"Are there any further questions or issues that need to be addressed?" Senator Burchard asked, looking to either side of the panel.

"I'm satisfied." Senator Dorn replied, getting the other members to nod their heads.

"Then it is by the decision of this panel that the Citadel Council's request for Marshal Collins to perform duties for the Citadel Council outside of Alliance Jurisdiction in a capacity that may extend beyond the Alliance Charter and duties of the Systems Alliance Marshal Services be approved with the full backing of the Systems Alliance Government." The older woman picked up a gavel and tapped it upon the striker, finalizing the decision. "And Marshal?" Sam looked to the Senator.

"Good luck out there."

\- A Fox Amongst The Wolves -

"That was rather intense."

Marshal Sam Collins was glad to be out of the conference room, the Sub-Committee inquest panel having been something she had partially dreaded for the past day or so. She stood in a hallway with Assistant Director Walter Skinner and Staff Marshal Emilio Torres just outside the room in which the panel had convened in, and the hour-long meeting left her feeling drained. She didn't know what would have happened if she hadn't satisfied the panel or its members, and it wasn't something she was eager to discover. All in all, it could have been a lot worse.

"Not the worst one I've sat through, not by a long shot." Skinner mused, a dry smile to his lined face. "Just sit through an Intelligence Sub-Committee Inquisition where they proceed to legally tear you a new asshole and leave you out to dry. This was merely a nice walk in the park, frankly. You handled yourself well for your first witch hunt."

"Ain't that the truth." Marshal Torres replied, wiggling his Fu Manchu. "Had me sweat a time or two, but you handled it cool as ice, Collins. I suspect that was the intent; to see how you'd react."

"All things considered, it was good practice then. I imagine with the way things are on the Citadel, a panel will be the least of my worries." Sam had been looking up news media stories and some of the in tell gleaned by the Office of Naval Intelligence for the Human Wards, and what she had read disheartened her. She was going to have her hands full for like the next year or so. At least. "Now I've got a week to prepare myself for the Citadel. I'll keep in touch with both of you and send you reports of my daily struggles."

"Don't envy you." Torres admitted with a shrug as he donned his Stetson on. "I'll send some contacts and suppliers your way to give you an idea of what you might need, as well as some files and dossiers for some potential hires. My suggestion? Get Deputies, pronto."

"Agreed." Skinner replied, nodding his head. "With the human population and the unrest that's going on, you'll be outnumbered and outgunned in the ways of legality and response. You won't succeed trying to cowboy that shit or acting like some old-school gunslinger. You'll need muscle, and fast."

"I've got a few friends who will be coming in to help." Sam replied, though she knew they were both right; she couldn't just walk in and swagger about like the new Sheriff in town. It was going to take finesse, allies, Deputies, and a whole lot of sleepless nights and grueling days. "Better grab some lunch before I start plowing through all the manuals on how to kickstart a Marshal's Office on a non-Alliance post."

"There's a manual?" Skinner asked, curious.

"There will be when she's done writing it." Torres replied, _harrumphing_. "I'll point you to a few good places to eat, first time on the Arc and all." The ONI Assistant Direct took the cue and bade them farewell as he left the hallway, Marshals Torres and Collins walking away from the conference room a few seconds later to leave the SAG Wing. They walked together mostly in silence until they left the Y. Gagarin Federal Building and found themselves on the ArcTram, riding towards another destination as the car was sparsely populated. Sam could tell that the few people in the Tram with them, mostly Arcturus inhabitants, looked at them sideways as citizens did whenever there was a cop around. The ArcTram finally reached a destination that Marshal Torres indicated was their stop, and Sam had to snort at the sight of a sign that said Food Court. She was actually suppose to meet someone here, and once they entered into the large place lined with fast-food restaurants and tables and chairs set out in the middle for the customers, she spied that person close to the entrance, eating what appeared to be the good ol' fashion hamburger-and-fries combo.

"Hope you don't mind some company." Sam told her contemporary as she headed towards that table, seeing the person occupying eating with one hand and reading from a datapad with the other, more reading than eating as she looked up to spy Sam approaching.

"Well, that was quicker than I expected." Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard smiled as she set down the 'pad and the burger, wiping her hands clean with a napkin as she stood up politely. She was currently on leave, as were the rest of the Naval Security Team Members of the SSV _Canberra_ while Battle Group _Moctezuma_ went though a month-long repair and refit. She was dressed in semi-military fashion, wearing a Navy Blue t-shirt with the 'NAVY' monogram in gold letters displayed just above the swell of her breasts, the shirt perhaps a bit too tight on her by the way it conformed to her figure. She also had on a pair of Navy Blue cargo pants and black pleather boots, leaving no doubt that she was a service member, and which branch. "Didn't rake you over the coals _too_ badly, I hope?"

"There were a few moments." Collins replied honestly, glad that the whole ordeal was over with. "Jane, I like for you to meet Staff Marshal Emilio Torres, of the Marshal Services."

"Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard, SAMP." Jane extended a hand, in which Emilio shook, looking a bit amused.

"You got a carryin' license for them guns of yours, Chief?" The mustached Marshal asked wryly, obviously noting the muscular arm her hand was attached to. Jane was rather proud of the thirty-three centimeter circumference of her arms.

"These puppies don't need to worry about running out of ammo, Marse." The redhead smirked as they all joined in at the table, turning to Sam. "So… good news?"

"Good news." Collins confirmed, getting Jane to beam at her.

"Hot damn! I know you were sweating it, but you read up and studied up. Give you a few hours and some material, I don't doubt you can plan and talk your way out of anything." The Sailor was still all smiles, her green eyes sparkling as she pushed her fries towards Sam. "Still shipping out on the Tenth?"

"Yes. A lot of planning and studying for me to do, I'm afraid." That had Torres grunt. "Literally everyone else comes to their Office with everything set up. I'm practically colonizing with 'Gels and wishes."

"We'll give you a good starter budget and some toys, no worries there." Emilio offered, smiling through his mustache. "Spacecraft… you're on your own on that one. I suggest getting a mortgage plan."

"People mortgage _ships_?" Sam was utterly perplexed at the thought, never actually occurring to her about the cost of any kind of space travel. She looked over to Jane, who looked a little amused at her reaction.

"Don't look at me, I'm Navy; I don't buy the shit."

"What does a basic shuttle cost?" Collins asked Torres, almost ready to dread the answer.

"You know that little UT-32 _Kortuga_ asteroid-jumper you had back in Therum?" The Marshal asked, and Sam remembered the Utility Transportation Vessel he was referring to, the one she had taken to Revan. "That cute lil' basic no-frills, no bells-and-whistle two-seater with no bathroom or place to eat? Four point three MegaCredits."

"That thing cost _four million Credits?_ " Collins felt her jaw drop at that, hardly able to believe it. That UT-32 had the most basic of navigational computers and instrumentations, and took forever going from one system to another! "Mother of God! How do people afford ships?"

"Mortgages." Emilio nodded, his face passive. "Welcome to the _Federales_ , Collins."

* * *

Author's Notes: This chapter was mainly just a bit of a blurb on the after effects of an action pack story. I mean, what would happen to Sergeants Roger Murtaugh and Martin Briggs after _Lethal Weapon_ with like fifteen police-related shooting deaths? They'd be suspended-with-pay for like the next year or so while the city of LA wept at the insurance premiums. Yes, cities have insurance.

Space A - A Real Life service of the military that does indeed transport military members from one base to another, generally for a very low price. The down side to it is that it is 'Space Available' and if they run out of seats… you're waiting for the next available flight that might be heading in that direction. It isn't Delta.

Military Transportation, Cargo-130 - Based off of the C-130 Hercules Cargo Airplane used by the United States Military. Still rollin' down the strip, just like the military cadence.

Stanford Torus - A circular space station, meant to rotate to create gravity through centrifugal force. The Presidium is technically a Stanford Torus, as was Elysium from the same-named movie.

Arcturus Station - Mass Effect didn't really delve that much into Earth politics that much, but the Systems Alliance was _not_ an Earth-based government, but is instead based off of the Arc. I believe that ArcGov and EarthGov are a duel-government in which the SA is responsible for extrasolar jurisdiction and spacial transportation and defense while EarthGov is primarily responsible for (you guessed it) Earth-related issues. The SA is funded by EarthGov, but isn't necessarily ruled by them, while the SA is more or less hands-off on Earth politics. So this is the route I am going for. The SA Constitution is a well-written document that defines and explains the separate powers and divisions of the Systems Alliance, while EarthGov has its own rules and regulations. In a sense, it is a Federal duel-Government with clear, well-defined powers and jurisdictions where EarthGov has sole responsibility for Sol System and its planets while the Systems Alliance is responsible for defending Charon Relay and everything outside of it.

MultiPass - completely stolen from The Fifth Element. Same concept as the movie, too; probably will liken it to the Military CAC (Common Access Card) or that chip thingie everyone's got on their debit cards.

Michael Dorn - Actor who played Chief of Security Commander Worf on Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Sub-Committees - I know they exist in the US Government, the Canadian Government, and the UK Government. Each Sub-Committee is responsible for its particular jurisdiction (like say, Appropriations or Intelligence, two permanent ones in the US Legislation) and generally are oversight committees that either approve of something before it happens, or review something after-the-fact. While not trials, per se, Committees and Sub-Committees are quite powerful, usually seated by Representatives or Senators with seniority in Congress, and pass a certain level of 'details' to be accepted (wouldn't want Storm Thurmond on the Committee for Civil Rights, after all). Being on one is quite prestigious, and heading one even more so. Senator John McCain has been seated on both the Committee for Defense and Sub-Committee for Military Spending for like… ever.

33cm - 13 inches, almost on the dot. It's not super huge on a woman, but pretty obvious.

Ship Mortgages? Thanks to the 2105 Edition of the Starship Construction Manual by www. woinrpg .com and www. enpublishing .com for this idea! My go-to books on all things astronautical!

And hold on to your keisters, kiddies. Because when you're surrounded by aliens... human lives matter.

The next series of chapters are monsters at 20,000+ words. I haven't made one that is less than 21,000.


	2. Human Lives Matter, I

_Mass Effect. EA/BioWare. All you need to know._

Author's Note: WARNING - POLITICALLY CHARGED MATERIAL AHEAD!

The name of this Arc is 'Human Lives Matter'.

In my mid-30's, I've heard of how African-Americans were treated back before the Civil Rights Act. I've certainly been taught it, seen pictures and videos, and even watched movies. It is disgusting to think that people were okay with it. If you think that I am making fun of or short-changing the 'Black Lives Matter' movement, I am not.

I, however, am going to use it.

Humanity on the Citadel is, for the most part, treated like second-class citizens. They can only live in certain portions, overcrowded and rife with petty criminality. They can only go to certain places, denied the better parts of civility for being 'barbaric' and 'backwards'. C-SEC patrols the Human Wards heavily, and altercations between law enforcement and human citizenry is an almost-daily thing. Civil unrest and strife are abundant as firebrands and the bold rise to the occasion while others live in a police-state, just trying to make it another day under the oppression. The bomb is set, and the fuse is ready. Sooner or later, something will make it all explode.

Because when one is surrounded by aliens…

…human lives matter.

\- Jersey

 _Arc I: Human Lives Matter_

" _The ultimate measure of a man  
_ _is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience,  
_ _but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."_

 _Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr._

 **Systems Alliance Dock, Enders, Zakera Arm, The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula, June 10 2175**

Alliance Federal Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins disembarked the human-oriented passenger vessel known as a ACV-10 _Pride of '57_ -Class Civilian Transportation Spaceliner, a couple hundred other human beings being fed off the spacecraft through a connecting umbilical tube with a lighted walkway for the passengers to follow. She shouldered her carry-on traveler's bag over her left shoulder while carrying a Pelican hardcase made of polyurethane in her right hand, moving along with the exodus of humanity that debarked the vessel. A moment later, she found herself stepping onto the Citadel for the very first time.

Well, an Alliance Spaceport on the Citadel, at least.

The Terminal that she walked on looked like any other Alliance-controlled Spaceport; heavy with holovision monitors for updates on schedules of arrivals and departures, as well as Alliance News Network, Armed Forces Network, Westerlund News, and Future Content Corporation. Sam walked through the Terminal, passing kiosks selling snacks, sundries, and the ever-present coffee shops of Starbucks littering just about every other location, it seemed. Collins ignored it all as she continued towards Baggage Claim, where she would pick up her Navy SeaBag, donated to her by Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard, the redhead picking one up for her from an Alliance Military Clothing and Sales store on Arcturus Station, which only sold to members of the Alliance Military. In it were her few personal effects; a few uniforms, some spare normal clothes, and several Optical Container Disks with information and programs she would need to kickstart a Marshal's Office on the Citadel. She had enough sundries and toiletries to last her for the week, and more than enough Credits to buy more if needed. She went to the indicated Baggage Claim carousal where a conveyor was already feeding luggage and bags, pieces sliding down the ramp and spinning around the carousal for passengers to identify and collect their personal effects.

Collins found hers easily enough; a large black cylindrical bag with two carrying handles and a zipper going down the length on one side, and of all things a hair scrunchie tied onto one of the handles, colored red. A deployment trick Jane did on their last night together, helping her pack her things and showing her some tips she learned in her time with the Navy. Sam had pretended not to notice that the redhead had slipped a few extra items into the SeaBag, knowing that they were meant for tonight and whenever she needed the reminder. Collins had done the same to in the Temporary Billets that Jane had, a small room that they had shared together while at the Arc, slipping a few mementos and e-letters to the Petty Officer. Their last night together had been hard, even though Jane, Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino and Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason would all be assign on Temporary Duty on the Citadel and under her 'command' for the time being, at least until Jane shipped out to Cadet Month in August. Their fifteen days of deployment leave would end on the Fifteenth, and they were already on a Space A flight on the Sixteenth. It wasn't that they wouldn't be with each other for five days; it was that it was a prelude that they would have a much longer separation between them.

Sam really hoped Nihlus was kidding when he said it looked like someone beat a varren to death in her apartment, alluding to the color scheme Tela Vasir picked.

SeaBag collected, Sam turned from the carousal and headed towards the egress doors of the Spaceport, surprised to find an older man holding up a holographic placard with her name written on it, merely 'Collins' on its light-surface. She had dressed casually, not wearing her black Western Gentleman cowboy hat, Sam Browne belt, Smith and Wesson, or her pleather-corded bola with silver brooch and turquoise set piece that was normally affiliated with the Marshal's. She was wearing her black sports blazer over a white dress shirt, blue jeans, and her cowboy boots, though, and could easily be mistaken for some colonial rube farmer or rancher. The fact that Therum gave her a pretty decent tan during her time there didn't hurt, either. She looked at the man holding the sign, seeing him in what appeared to be a speeder-styled black pleather jacket over… a black t-shirt and black cargo pants. What really caught her eye was that the only color other than black the man had was going down his right shoulder; a stripe of red coming horizontally off his collar and running down the top of his shoulder, down the side of his bicep and forearm, and ending at his wrist. The red stripe was also bordered by silver.

Those were the colors of an N-Level Sailor or Marine.

"I'm Collins." Sam identified herself to the man, seeing his swarthy face, black hair slicked back behind his head, a permanent stubble shadow gracing his strong features. His broader nose, wider lips, and heavier brow gave him a bit of a brutish cast, honestly, but his blue eyes were intense and intelligent; this was no mere thug. N-Levels had a fierce reputation about them, and while Sam didn't doubt there was a little shine and polish to embellish it, she didn't doubt some of the harder rumors about their supposed proficiency in dealing swift, hard strikes against unsuspecting targets. These were the men and women who were the masters of unconventional warfare, their motto 'Who Dares, Wins'. She had seen an N7 on Therum when Fleet Master Jon Grissom had arrived, but hadn't met him due to the Memorial Day Ceremony and Services, and a hundred other things that required her attention. She was certain this was the same man, though. "You are?"

"Captain Alec Ryder, Marse." The man dipped his head as he tapped at his OmniTool and the holographic light-screen disappeared. Sam felt her eyes go wide at that name. She knew that name! Hell, anyone from Demeter, Shanxi, Sirona 61, Eden Prime, and Elysium knew that name!

This was the man who planted _the_ flag on her birth planet, Shanxi! And a dozen others!

"Pathfinder." Sam smiled as she set down her hard case and stuck her hand out, calling him by the name the news had given to the first man to set foot on an extrasolar planet; Humanity's Pathfinder. Jon Grissom was remembered for discovering the systems and making the leaps of faith to find new worlds, but this was the man who braved the unknown to touch down on undiscovered planets to determine their worth. Her Secondary Gymnasium was named after him. Probably a tenth of all the government buildings and organizations on Shanxi were named after him. "It's an honor." She found herself shaking the hand of a man she had learned about and read about, and like Grissom, she felt herself in awe of this legend. "Got everything I need. I take it you're my chauffeur?"

"Yes." The older man gave a ghost of a smile, his eyes touching on the hard case she picked back up. "That's not… your hogleg, I take it?"

"No, that's coming in through the Diplomatic Corps of the Embassy. Something about bringing a firearm that can put a hole through a hull." Federal Marshals were often on passenger flights for protection of vessel and personnel, and all she happened to have on her was her Glock Safe Arms Model 18C Machine Pistol; it was a firearm, but it wasn't the Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver she had found to be both superior and authoritative. "I got a 5 gram in a shoulder rig and an Alliance-sponsored Concealed Carry Permit as well as my badge. That going to be a problem here?"

"No, I got the same thing, though mine has a clause for my SOCOM Eagle Mk. VII." Alec replied. "You'll need to add that if you want to carry that mammothkiller of yours." Sam briefly wondered how Ryder was able to carry a Special Forces Combat Pistol on the Citadel, N-Level or not, and figured that he probably worked through the Embassy, probably as Diplomatic Security Services. "You'll be fine as long as you have a Declaration Form for an Exception to Policy signed through the Embassy if you want to go through the Wards."

"Got it in my pack." Sam indicated, tugging at the strap on her left shoulder. The Pathfinder grunted as he picked up her SeaBag without her asking, leading her out of the Spaceport and towards a Citadel Public Transit Authority Lot, where a rack of X3M Contragravity Public Transportation Vehicles awaited. Collins was a little disappointed that she still actually hadn't 'seen' the Citadel yet, despite physically on it. Her seat the ASV-10 hadn't been a port window one, unfortunately. "We're renting an Aircar?"

"Only three modes of transportation on the Cit." The N replied as he went to a kiosk and pressed his hand onto the sensor, the station chiming in confirmation of his identity as the rack in front of him slid a white-and-blue X3M towards them through the use of Mass Effect fields and magnetics. "Renting, the CPTA Tram that runs down the length of the Arms, and walking. Only those in the Citadel Government get personal vehicles, and even then, it's the Brass. Well, C-SEC, too." Sam spotted a few Officers already by the station that held the Tram in question, a light-rail that contained about forty cars or so for passengers. She noted that all ten of them were Turians. Well, supposedly some forty percent of the Citadel Security Services were Turian, so perhaps that was or was not an accident. Alec opened the storage compartment in the back and placed her SeaBag in the back, in which Collins placed her travelers' bag and the Pelican hardcase in with it. Ryder just looked at it for a moment, and then at her. "So if you got a Glock under your arm and your Smith and Wesson is being shipped, what's in the hardcase?"

"My hat." Sam replied immediately, with a tone that brooked no tomfoolery. Ryder looked at her with a little bit of a double-take, obviously a little surprised at the thought of having what he thought as a mere 'cowboy hat' in a polyurethane case, hand-carried instead of put into the storage section of the Spacecraft. She didn't doubt he thought it a little ostentatious. "And how many of your jackets and whatnot have _that_?" She looked significantly at the red-and-silver stripe running down the right sleeve of his jacket, the mark of a Special Forces Warrior. That had him smile.

" _Touché,_ Marse. _Touché._ " The N-Level Sailor closed the compartment as he gave her a nod of respect. "Pop on in, and we'll head over. Ellen's making steak and potatoes, and you're already cordially invited. Besides," the Captain shrugged, "I don't doubt Scott will ask about a million and a half questions, and Sara will kill me if she didn't get a chance to meet you. Don't doubt little girls everywhere got some still or poster of you somewhere now."

That touched Sam, never having really considered it before. Yeah, she knew she was probably going to be popular and talked about for a bit after the Battle of Therum, but she had really only really considered the adult reactions of such a thing. Kids… kids would really see her as a hero, looking up to her, wouldn't they? Especially girls, having a young woman such as she as the focus, almost like being a Saturday morning cartoon superhero or vid action star, except in real life. What Alec said made sense; there probably was a whole host of little girls and young ladies that would look up to her, probably having some e-rolodex of photos and stills from her time on Therum to commemorate her. At least two jackasses had downloaded their helmet cam footage of her onto the ExtraNet, and by the subject pictures involved, one of them had been an Naval Security Team Member that had originally deployed with her onto Therum (Sam suspected Chief Mason), and the other during the Battle of Therum (a few probably being Chief Mason, but several involving the Bloodsalt District, the angles of the shot having her suspect either Seaman Apprentice Katarina Solodenke or Private Blake Bell). She had seen some of them herself (well, Jane had showed them off and got her to groan at their presence) and Sam at least admitted that most of them were actually pretty good.

Unsurprisingly, the Krogan picture had made it onto the ExtraNet, her standing triumphant over the creature she had knifed with a KA-BAR. There was one of her kicking in a door of Synapps (Mason for sure, by the angle), another of her leading the stack to breach the Marshal's Office (again, Mason), one of her flying through the twisting corridors of No'burg on a Harley-Davidson Motor Company, Inc. Iron 883 at breakneck speeds (she had no idea who did that, considering Mason was in the Market Square at the time), five in sequence of her dealing with her first Pillars-Priest; tackle, mounting, elbow strike, hammer fist, and Gi choke (that had to be Bell, with additional trope commentary about 'MCMAP Awesomeness!'), another of her second Pillars-Priest, her spearing the creature mid-tackle (actually, it was a good pic that was again undoubtedly Mason), a couple of her in various positions and activities that she recognized as her leading Chief Shepard, Seaman Solodenke, and Private Bell through the Bloodsalt (most likely Bell), and a five-part sequence shot of her quick-drawing and firing her Model 696 at the now-identified SIU Commander that had planted atomic mines throughout No'burg and used Jane as a hostage, her hand and weapon a blur even with the quick-exposure speed of the camera in question (by the angle, she actually suspected Jondum Bau, but it could have easily been Tela Vasir, too).

At least there weren't scantily clad or nude models in various positions featuring her Photoshopped head trolling the ExtraNet. Yet.

\- A Fox Amongst The Wolves -

Author's Note: While this is the 'Excerpt Section' found at the end of Where The Law Stands Tall, there are some subtle differences and additions to it. So… don't skip just because you think you read it already?

\- A Fox Amongst The Wolves -

 **0800 Block, Human Wards, Zakera Arm, The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula, June 10 2175**

The X3M Contragravity Public Transportation Vehicle landed in the Citadel Public Transit Authority Lot, the integrated-VI systems of the CPTA 'grabbing' the car in an electromagnetic tether and placing it in an available empty slot as Captain Alec Ryder (N7, SAN) and Marshal Sam Collins stepped out of the air car, opening gulling doors and finding themselves at the docks of the 0800 Block of the Zakera Wards. The Aircar lot was in its separate and contained infrastructure, housed by Plexiglas walls that Sam could see through into what would be essentially her new home; the Human Wards. She knew, intellectually, how big they were. Five levels going from the Sky Wards, the Upper Wards, the Mid Ward, the Lower Wards, and finally the Scows, were all contained in Blocks that measured one kilometer in width each, and that there were seven Blocks that represented humanity's 'home' on the Citadel save for a few who worked in the Embassy and diplomatic missions, who had a residency in the Presidium Ring. Seven kilometers long. Three kilometers thick. Five levels tall.

Over two million inhabitants strong.

Sam's eyes looked at the sight of just the 0800 Block, having arrived in the Lower Wards, and able to see at least four of the separate levels going upward, each a hundred meters tall as they stacked on top of one another, following the curve of the Ward Arm of the gigantic Stanford Torus. Each level was some three kilometers thick, staggered by the Citadel's curved nature so that some of the Wards actually extended into 'open' air, four levels having half-a-kilometer with no 'roof' in which was oriented towards the center of the Citadel Arm known as Zakera. The Scows were completely covered, a sort of underground level that extended under the level in which the Citadel's hydroponics ran with trees and water to exchange air, waste products, and filtration for the Station's inhabitants, continuing to the other side of the Wards, those they were not established as a 'humans only' Ward, populated by some of the minor races. Still, Sam felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw a series of skyscrapers inhabiting the open-air portion of the Wards, dominated by businesses and corporations while more buildings and residencies existed under the levels, where a vast majority of the human population lived and worked; their own little world, so to speak. Sam did the math in her head quickly; seven kilometers long, three kilometers wide made for twenty-one square kilometers. Five levels meant that she was responsible for a hundred and five square kilometers of the human populous on the Citadel. Factor in that there were over two million registered human inhabitants in the Human Wards?

That was over twenty thousand people per square kilometer; near the density population of the city Paris.

The Human Wards were a city unto itself.

Sam found herself staring at the scope of the 0800 Block, her eyes finding the separate levels, seeing the buildings that they occupied, the lights in the windows, holographic billboards and light-signs that hung off their structures while mini-transporter rail systems going both vertical and horizontal provided another means of locomotion inside the Wards as oppose to walking everywhere as Aircars were not allowed into the Wards themselves. Over two million human beings inhabited this section and this section alone, and now she was responsible for them all.

 _Mother of God, did I just walk off the frying pan…_

"A little daunting, isn't it?" Ryder asked, the older man noticing her looking upon her new jurisdiction, as well as humanity's first intergalactic post that was upon a foreign soil (or structure, in this case). Nowhere else did a Marshal's Office exist on any colony of a separate species, nor on any other station, outpost, or area of inhabitants. The creation of the Marshal's Office on the Citadel really was a huge step for humanity, as it would give them a little more authority and ability to have a say in matters, to establish that they really were becoming a part of the galactic community as oppose to just occupying a portion of it. "Remember my first time here. Needed a forklift to pick my jaw up off the floor, too."

"That obvious?"

"Yep." The N folded his arms across his chest, smiling slightly. "Come. Already texted Ellen so she knows we're coming soon, and I don't doubt she'll insist on feeding you. The twins are home, too, no doubt busting at the seams." He opened the storage compartment in the back of the X3M to let Sam collect her gear, the N again taking it upon himself to carry her Navy SeaBag for her. Well, he was being polite and gentlemanly, at least. He closed the compartment and went to a nearby meter station and place his palm on the biometric reader, and Sam watched the slot 'grab' the Aircar and pull it into a rack that held seven other identical vehicles for storage and use. "This way."

"Lead on, Pathfinder." Collins nodded as Alec took the lead, walking towards the lift that would lower them from the CPTA Lot that stood approximately twenty meters above street level and onto the main level of the Lower Wards, the lift's translucent wall giving the Federal Marshal a view of the boulevards, businesses, and shops of the main street as she watched the masses of humanity traveling them, going their way towards whatever destination was apt for them on foot. It was still fairly early in the evening (Citadel Time), and the hustle and bustle was more-than-likely end-of-business/heading-home traffic, though as she understood it, the 'sun' never did set in the Citadel Wards, the artificial sky always shining. As least the temperature of the Citadel was set at a comfortable if cool fifteen degrees Celsius. The lift lowered to the 'ground' level of the Lower Wards quickly as the translucent partition slid open to give access to those riding on the lift as Ryder once again took charge, Collins following him as she found herself arriving to, of all things, a security checkpoint. There was a line of humans heading towards the station manned by Citadel Security Services, known as C-SEC, and Sam quickly noted that every single one of the ten officers that manned it were Turian. That… was telling. More so than it had been at the Alliance-oriented Spaceport. Come to think of it, did the other species come on their own Spaceports, or was it just Mankind?

"Is this common?" Sam asked Alec discretely as they got in line, perhaps a dozen or so people from the front as she studied the procedure; there was a multiscan machine that would access the person who stepped into the marked zone and stood there for five seconds as multiple scanners swept the person in question, looking for what she assumed to be the obvious; explosives, firearms, narcotics, and illegal tech. There was a man being scanned as they entered the line, standing in a common search position with his feet at shoulder-width apart and his arms held out to either side as a series of beams ran over his body while being watched on by a technician watching the readings and several more seemingly ready to pounce.

"Only in government facilities, C-SEC Academy, and the Human Wards." Alec confirmed, keeping his voice low. "Citadel EID Chips label us as human, and if the place in question doesn't allow it, we can't get in." That filled Collins with unease, hearing of that semi-oppressive stance on ANN. She knew there were issues, but that seemed heavy-handed. "And you don't want to be caught in a part of the Citadel you aren't allowed to be in. Trust me on that."

"How much of the Citadel does that entail?" The Marshal asked.

"Pretty much all of it."

The line moved forward as a blue light was given (she'd have to remember that blue was the 'positive' light to humanity's commonly-accepted green) as Sam moved with the line, now suddenly glad she didn't have her weapons at the moment. For her first trip to the Citadel, she had decided to play it incognito, to look upon what would be her jurisdiction without advertising her presence. Her equipment was set to arrive in the next day or so through diplomatic means through the Human Embassy, but for now, she was dressed in attire that didn't look too uncommon for someone from an agrarian colony, such as Elysium or Eden Prime. She'd doubt anyone would recognize her as the Marshal of Therum if they put a picture right next to her, which was the point. She dug through her traveler's pack quickly to pull out the datapad that contained her Declaration Form for an Exception to Policy for her Glock 18C, knowing that she would need to show it to the checkpoint without being told. The line continued to move, and Sam watched as two people were pulled out of the multiscanner for whatever reasons, taken to a small station set aside, the alumniglas walls opaque and certainly foreboding. The humans in question, both men of a seedier variety, were spitting mad as they cursed and resisted every step of the way. It reminded her well enough of Spaceport Security when traveling but she had a feeling there was something more sinister to it than that as one Turian Officers ejected a man waiting in line who had decided to get mouthy with the wait, collecting him with some sort of device that locked him up and dragged him away, much like the Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifle did with its phasic rounds. Collins was appalled at the sight as she looked to Ryder, who minutely shook his head 'no', indicating to leave it be.

No one in line said a word at the sight of those incidences. Not one word at all.

"Next monkey!" A Turian manning the terminal at the multiscanner called out as it became Ryder's turn, the N inserting his OmniTool into a 'Tool Port before walking into the device and standing in the center of it in the same position as everyone else; a vertical spread-eagle. No doubt Ryder's OmniTool declared his status as armed, and while, including the necessary licenses for him to Carry Concealed. Sam watched as the telltale lights swept over his body, gracing the common clothing that he wore appropriate to the Citadel as the device chimed a few seconds later, a blue light appearing as seven Turian Officers all watched the action, each of their taloned hands carrying a device that Sam had no doubt were different makes and models of pacification tools.

Sam briefly wondered if this was what it felt like to enter into the Warsaw Ghetto of old.

It became her turn, and the 'monkey' stepped forward, inserting her datapad into a slot just above the 'Tool Port for the same reasons as Alec had with his OmniTool, complying easily enough as she did the same thing that Alec had done, letting the scanner do its job as she closed her eyes to keep the light band from blinding her and giving her a subsequent headache. The scanner finished and chimed, a blue light appearing as Collins finished going through the checkpoint as she watched at least two of the Turians leer at her ugily, one of them tapping his rod against his armored thigh, classic intimidation. She got the gist of the suggestion and turned her attention away while collecting her authorization datapad, her mood foul as she walked towards where Alec stood, seeing nearby on the wall near the checkpoint station a bit of graffiti. The wall's pristine white surface had been marred with ugly black spray paint, undoubtedly an illegally acquired 'tag app' on someone's OmniTool. It almost seemed like a bit of teenaged rebellion until she read the three bold words that had been immortalized on the wall, large and plain for all to see. She had to only read it once, and the sight of it chilled her. It simply read;

' **HUMAN LIVES MATTER** '

\- A Fox Amongst The Wolves -

Marshal Sam Collins walked into an upper-level apartment in a complex building in the 0830 Block (Mid Wards), where the numbers '2547' read on the door before Captain Alec Ryder opened it with a wave of his OmniTool, entering the access pass to unlock the door, walking inside before letting Sam into chaos and anarchy. The young woman felt a bit of a shock as she found herself walking into a small living room that, while furnished appropriately with couches, a coffee table, a holovision monitor, and various decorations and accessories one would find in a domicile, the living room was dominated by not one but _two_ tornados, human ones at that.

"Kids! Knock it off! We have a guest!" Came a woman's voice from somewhere to the right, deeper into the apartment as a woman in mid-30's appeared, the aire of a survivor gracing her as only befitted a mother of what appeared to be two prepubescent teenagers, one boy and one girl. Sam felt a little uncomfortable walking into a strangers' house and interrupting their lives in such a way, seeing the boy and girl roughhousing in the living room as kids would, the playful fighting never serious until someone got hurt. They weren't exactly fighting or wrestling, but if they were practicing martial arts or Earth Urban Competitive Combat, that wouldn't have surprised her either. The romping stopped as a sandy-blonde boy and an almost auburn-haired girl stood up from their adventure, glaring daggers at one another before their eyes went to their mother and choired _sorry, Mom_ at the same time in feigned innocence. It was so domestic and _normal_ that Collins felt a little more at ease in such a new place and new situation. These were normal people, with normal lives, and it was normal to invite a guest inside.

"Do I want to know who started it?" Alec asked, his voice amused as he folded his thick arms across his thick chest. He was obviously nobody's fool.

"Silver Medal did!" The girl fired off quickly, explaining that one quickly. Twins, paternal, and the girl was the older one, if the nickname for her brother could be believed. 'Silver Medal' was certainly… interesting to describe the second-born child of a pair. Sam briefly wondered what the boy called his sister.

"Nuh-uh! Minute Rice did it!" Ah, that explained it. It was perfect sibling rivalry, especially amongst twins. The girl was looking at her funnily for a moment before her jaw dropped open and her eyes went wide. A youthful teenager defeated her plain disguise.

" _Ohmygoshyou'retheMarshal!_ " The girl's youthful voice went up two octaves and two dozen decibels. All pretenses of the prior battle for twindom were quickly forgotten as the boy looked at her too, his face opening up. "Scott, that's _her!_ " The girl was practically bouncing in place as her face was aglow with enthusiasm as Scott's face lit up as well.

"I've seen all your vids!" The boy declared, his voice full of enthusiasm.

"There's vids now?" Sam winced, looking to Alec, who merely rolled his eyes as he set down her Navy SeaBag and took off his black pleather speeder jacket, hanging it on a nearby coatrack by the apartment's front door. Collins noted that his SOCOM was in a shoulder rig and he made no motion to taking it off. He offered to take her own blazer and Collins shrugged it off, her Glock popping into view as she handed the N her coat, hanging next to his jacket on the rack.

"Yeah!" The girl piped up, obviously eating all this up. "There's the one of you breaching your boss's Office…"

"…The one where you're pulling donuts on a Harley…"

"…Oh! The one where you pistol-whip some gorilla when he barred your way!"

"And the one where you choke a Batarian _to death!_ "

"Sara Elaine Ryder and Scott Michael Ryder!" Both kids winced at the sound of all three names being announced with authority by their mother, the woman scowling appropriately as she stood there, hands on her hips and tapping her foot. They were in for it, now. "You two wash up for dinner and quit pestering our guest! You to need to be on your best behavior for the Marshal." A choir of _yes, Mom_ came as the reply as Sam did her best not to smirk too openly at the sight of the twins complying with their mother's wish, heads hanging as they sulked away towards the lavatory. "Sorry about that." The woman turned to look at same, dressed sensibly in slacks and a blouse, neither plain nor showy. The woman stuck her hand out. "Doctor Ellen Ryder."

"Sam Collins." The Marshal shook the Doctors' hand, finding her grip to be sure and steady; not a normal woman's handshake, light to the touch. "Thank you for inviting me into your home, Doctor." She had the sense that the woman ruled the roost in this family.

"Ellen, please." The Doctor insisted as she waved towards the living room. "Make yourself comfortable, and dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes." Sam could smell cooked meat and boiled potatoes, and she had to admit that she was hungry. She hadn't eaten much on the Arc before catching her flight to the Citadel, and the spacecraft hadn't offered an in-flight meal or even complimentary snacks. At over seven kiloParsec's away, the direct flight had been a long one, taking just over seven hours to complete. For a flight occupying such a length of time, one would think that a Spaceline Company would have offered more in the way of refreshments. Thankfully, Sam had at least had breakfast before boarding her flight. Sam did her best to act normal as she apprehensively entered the connecting living room, finding a couch and tentatively sitting in an available spot, trying not to act nervous. She… never been in a house before, even an apartment meant to be one. Alec, who had taken residence in an easy chair, seemed to notice.

"You know, this isn't the first time we've met."

"I didn't get a chance to meet you on Therum." Sam frowned, knowing that she would have remembered meeting the Pathfinder. Perhaps it was… earlier? Much of her childhood was a tumbled kaleidoscope of memories that she had difficulty knowing what was real, true, or just fantasy. It had taken her years of therapy and counseling to progress to a level of near-normal human interaction. "I'm afraid I don't remember the last time."

"You wouldn't." The older man smiled, one that didn't present joy, but an old sorrow. He got up off his chair and went to a bookcase near the wall-mounted holovision, where the shelves were lined with organized pleather-bound books with no titles on their spines. No, not books; journals, Collins realized, recognizing them for what they were. Personal journals. The N scanned through the shelves, past the color-coded identifiers that were marked at the bottom of the spines, selecting one that was identified by a red band. He picked the third of seven as he pulled it out with a gentleness that belied such a strong-looking figure as he returned to his easy chair, holding the journal in such a caring manner as to give credence of personal intrinsic value. "These," he indicated the journals, "are my personal memoirs, starting from being selected for the _Excelsior_ mission until the births of my children." That had Sam almost gasp out loud. With a life such as Alec Ryder's, such personal thoughts and experiences would be priceless. "Each color represents a period of my life. White," the first set of journals at the top left of the bookshelf, "represents everything before the launch of the _Excelsior_ and the trip through the Charon Relay. Blue," the next set, "represents those days when discovery and exploration was a day-to-day event." A smile came to his swarthy features, a smile of times when the man had been the pinnacle of his entire race, the Pathfinder of a dozen habitable worlds and who knew how many others? "Green represents our colonial efforts, the first settlements in the stars.

"Red represents the First Contact War."

Sam found herself completely immersed.

"Now where are my… ah!" Alec looked to the coffee table and found a pair of bi-focal reading glasses, putting them on with practiced eased as he thumbed the journal open, turning through many pages before slowing down, reading a few words, and flipping a page until he exclaimed his arrival of what he was looking for. "October Third, 2157." He looked to her for a moment, peering at her from above his glasses, tilting his head downward slightly in order to do so. "This will not be an easy listen, Marshal. Just so you know."

"Please, continue." Sam sat forward, eager to hear. She didn't actually know anything about her life before the FCW. She only knew her name from the orphanage, and that she had been rescued by soldiers from _Operation: Repensium_. All she had from before was the graves of her parents who were killed in a kinetic strike where she had been found. She didn't even own a picture of them, unable to find any in the Colonial Registration Office, the building having been struck by a kinetic strike. She felt… pain at not knowing. How did this man know what she did not? It was obvious he could tell, as he sighted and looked to the words peened by his own hand in such tumult times.

"October Third, 2157;

" _We were in the middle of search-and-rescue operations after the disaster in New Beijing, those who survived banding together to continue fighting the Raptors (_ what we called them at the time) _, no one calling it quits. We were south of Neo Hong Kong when we saw a flash and a strike to our north, perhaps a klick or two away. We knew what it meant; the Raptors had launched a Finger of God_ (what we called kinetic strikes back then) _on some defenders or survivors. We pushed forward to either engage a Raptor Reconnaissance Team or provide assistance to whomever might have survived the orbital bombing. About two-thirds of the way towards the growing pillar of smoke, we came across a small patrol of Raptors, aiming their weapons at us but not firing. There was a tense moment when both sides were ready to fight it out, but the Raptors were talking to each other in their language, pointing at us but not indicating for us to surrender, nor firing upon us._

" _Eventually, one came out in the open, holding something in his claws; something in a blanket. I moved forward after ordering my men to hold position and not to do anything unless I signaled it as I approached the Raptor, seeing its strange dinosaur-like face looking at mine, its mouth pincers lowering slightly as it said something to me in a voice that was neither hostile or commanding. I looked into the aliens' arms, and was surprised to see a human child held gently in its claws, wrapped up in a haphazard fashion in a dirty blanket. It was a girl, blue eyes rimmed with tears as she cried, wailing one word; 'Momma!'. The Raptor held her out to me, and I took the child, a toddler, perhaps two years old. I held her close and despite dirt, grime, armor, and sweat, her little arms went around my neck as she clutched at me, her sobs lessening. The Raptor reached out with a claw and gently caressed the child's brown hair, as gentle as a parent would, its eyes… emotional. It said one word, and though I never learned of its meaning, I could tell that it was sorry._

" _Me and the child went back to the band of survivors, where everyone was amazed at what had occurred. We had seen the worst horrors that war could offer, and yet the gesture we had witnessed was… it was indescribable. One of the Navy survivors, this kid named Mary, took the little girl into her arms and soothed her, the baby asking for her mother again. We all looked to the pillar of smoke ahead and knew the answer. Poor child was an orphan."_

"October Fifth, 2157:

" _We had been traveling cross-country for two days now, our wounds getting to us and almost completely out of food. A Raptor Hunter/Killer patrol has been stalking us for hours now, and we've already had to leave two of our own behind, their injuries too great to continue on. We heard their last moments in the distance, ambushing the Raptors to buy us some time with their lives, a sacrifice both worthy and beautiful, lost in the din of violence and blood. I've long lost the ability to cry anymore._

" _Caught Mary sneaking her rations to the child again, and I pretended not to notice. She's grown attached to the little girl, and through all this misery, it's the only bright spot we have. We're on the move to head towards Neu Incheon, where we hope there is still some resistance left, the 3_ _rd_ _Marine Expeditionary Unit having dropped on the city with the intent to clear-and-control. If New Beijing was any indication on how bad things are, I am not hopeful. Still, I tell my survivors that we will find someone else, perhaps a bunker or a defense where we can actually get a few hours rest and some crappy food for once._

" _Hunter/Killer team caught up to us, and despite the defensive location and traps we laid, they came at us like wolves in the night. Lost half our band, ten good men and women dead fighting off the Raptors. Mary died fighting, holding cover while protecting the little girl. A Raptor had breached the perimeter wall we established and the Sailor shoved a KA-BAR into its neck and damn near decapitated the alien. Unfortunately, the one right behind it put a burst through her chest, practically imploding it. She still managed to kill that one as well, putting a trio of Mattock rounds into its spiky forehead before gurgling her last, holding the child as the little girl cried, giving the baby a last kiss on her forehead._

" _Her last words spoken were 'Samantha Lynn'."_

"October Tenth, 2157:

" _Neu Incheon was mostly a bust, the city looking like Godzilla pounded the hell out of it. Found some resistance fighters who led us into a fortification that was too tough for the Raptors and their Fingers of God to crack. There's only four of us left, and we're past the point of exhaustion. We ran out of food completely yesterday, except somehow the little girl never complained of being hungry. I found a few crackers and a snack bag of peanuts in my gear yesterday underneath some of my stuff, and I gave it to her, ignoring my own belly as I watched Samantha munch away happily, giving me a toothy smile. I may never have kids of my own, may never leave this planet alive, but I found a way to save just this one life. I pray to God that it matters somehow._

" _We reached the fortification, and we had a stroke of luck; it's a colonial building basement reinforced by survivors of the initial attack, preppers and hoarders really shining through. They've got food, water, and beds, and I've had my first full meal in thirteen days. We joined the resistance here in Neu Incheon, seeing hundreds of civilians helping out the remaining forces of Sailors and Marines dropped in_ Repensium _. I don't know how many are left, but my band of four wouldn't make it much farther, and couldn't hope to find better. I think of the twenty-five survivors of New Beijing and how they died to get just four to someplace we consider safe, and the math hurts. It's a good thing I can't cry anymore, because I don't know if I could be functional. Twenty-five walked out of hell, just so four could bring back one tiny survivor. Fighting an alien race, it drives me to see what being human is all about; Samantha is the healthiest of us, well-fed, cleanest, and completely without wounds. It matters._

" _The fortification has a Doctor, who checked out the little girl for us, the physician not asking where the girl's parents were; probably an all-too familiar story. There were children in the fortification, no where else to go, and I realize that this must be held, that right there, Samantha and those little boys and girls were the reason we were doing this. The pain, the hunger, the death… worth it. Children are our future, why I stepped foot on this planet and planted the registration beacon on its soil almost a decade ago. Hope for a future, a dream worth having, worth fighting for. We fight for our homes and families. We will stay here and aid the resistance, wait for reinforcements come._

" _Samantha is well, playing with the other children, laughing and babbling without a care in the world. If I die, that's the image I want to take with me. When the physician asked me the child's name, I remembered Mary, that brave Sailor who gave her life for a child, fighting monsters. She had named the child, so I filled in the rest in a way I thought appropriate; I gave the girl Mary's last name, Collins. Whoever she was before, I doubt we'll ever know. If her parents are in Heaven, I hope they'll understand. Times have grown harsh, and I hope, just hope, that perhaps I created something beautiful for something so fragile and precious, something worth fighting and dying for. Today, I fight for the future of just one little girl named Samantha Lynn Collins. It will be enough. It matters."_

Alec Ryder closed his journal softly; coveting hands brushing its pleather cover as the Pathfinder gave off a long breath, obviously reliving memories. As for Sam, she wiped away at the fat teardrops that cascaded down her face, finally knowing what happened during the First Contact War. Questions that had remained unanswered all this time finally coming to light. It hurt, but it was a new kind of pain, one she would learn through its depths at a later time. She finally had what she wanted to know, and why she hadn't been able to find out more.

"What was she like? Mom?" Sam asked, looking at the Pathfinder, who looked to her with a thousand-meter stare, obviously still in the past. It occurred to her that she never asked Master Chief Valentino about Shanxi, didn't want to broach it. Sure, Stacy had a comment or two here and there, but Collins knew enough to know that hundreds of thousands that they poured into the fight for _Operation: Repensium_ had been slaughtered to a very high percentage; only about ten percent survived. Mankind had banded together with fury and righteousness at the news of an alien species decimating their kin, but had been woefully unprepared, outgunned and outclassed. Mary Collins had been the woman she had known to be her mother her entire life, yet she knew nothing of her save the day she died, buried next to Michael Collins, whom was her husband. It never occurred to her that… no, Mary Collins was the closest thing she ever had to a mother, even if for two days. She had her name, and she knew where she was buried. That was good enough, that mattered to her.

"I only knew her from New Beijing, probably five or six days." Alec replied after a moment, deep in thought. "She… got married on Earth to a Sailor before we deployed, and he died in NewBei. Probably only married for a week or two at best." The Special Forces Warrior looked older after that response. "You… pulled her out of depression, someone who was just going through the motions of living, made her feel and care again. I think she felt the same way I did at the time; she found something worth truly fighting for, something to live for, and something to die for. Another group of survivors had actually visited the school that was bombed from orbit, what the Turians struck, and they said there wasn't much left. Not sure if you were inside, outside, or how the Turians found you. Whoever your real parents were was lost to war and destruction, I'm afraid. But I know of two people that cared to try, Seaman Mary Collins being one of them. The other? He works in C-SEC."

"The Turian." Sam realized, understanding what Ryder was getting at; an act of mercy when there was none to be had. "He's… on the Citadel?"

"Yes, the _Legio_ of their Homicide Division, a Commandant in Turian." The N-level Sailor replied, nodding his head. "His name is Venari Pallin."

\- A Fox Amongst The Wolves -

Dinner ended up being a simple but delicious affair that Marshal Sam Collins found herself enjoying at the dinner table of the Ryder family. There had been a bit of a debate between the twins on who would sit next to 'their guest', in which Sara and Scott bickered for a good minute or two before it was settled, that the ladies would sit on one side and the boys on the other, to where Sam was actually in between the children at their round dinner table. Scott was fascinated by the Battle of Therum, which was all he wanted to talk about, but Sara was much more enamored by Sam herself, actually asking details about more than just Therum. Collins did her best to endure the assault from both sides, the Ryder parents obviously amused that it wasn't them that was the focus of the attention for a change. Having two twelve year-old kids certainly promised interesting times as she did her best to answer the many questions she got in a tactful manner as possible, not wanting to divulge in gory details or some of the darker moments of that time. Scott, like any other boy, was about firearms, speeder bikes, serving around the military, and even asked if it were true that she knifed a Krogan. Alec had almost choked on his soy protein extract, beef-flavored steak at that while Ellen reprimanded her son. Sara then pointed out Sam hadn't actually answered the question, and the Marshal could tell by the way the kids (and even Alec) were looking at her that they were expecting a response. Collins looked to Ellen for some kind of rescue, but the mother merely smirked as Sam confirmed the rumor that, yes, she had indeed taken down a Krogan with a KA-BAR, trying to answer as diplomatically as she could. Questions and dinner continued and Sam found the experience… charming. It was hard to get use to first, nervous and awkward with her Autistic mind trying to make sense of this unusual situation. It took her a few minutes to ease into it, though, and she found that having dinner with a family a nice moment.

It was the first one she ever had of the sort, and she wouldn't mind sharing more.

Dinner was over and it was interesting to Sam to see the children's reaction to doing dishes and cleaning up afterwards, a whole hosts of moaning and complaining as they collected dishes from the table, scraped leftovers into the refuse chute, and hand washed the plates instead of simply rinsing them and putting them into an autoclave dishwasher. She spent the time talking to Ellen, finding out that she was an engineer who minored in physiology and performed research and testing on Biokinetic Amplification Devices, or BioAmps. That had Sam impressed; Biokinetic Research was top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art research for humanity, the field only being less than thirty years old, but honestly closer to twenty since the Incident in Bangkok and the discovery of Eezo Mutation in fetuses. Ellen Ryder had been involved in every L-Series Implant and BioAmp release since their first inception in the early 60's, now working on the more highly-advanced L3(a) Implant meant to stabilize Biokinetic draw as oppose to being more of a capacitor like the L2(a)-(f) Series. Sam found Ellen to be a wealth of information and completely passionate about her line of work, hoping to advance human improvement and advancement through science, research, and understanding.

Sam was also the host of two very eager sets of blue eyes looking at her with expectant faces.

"I think they'll pop if they're not allowed a _few_ questions." Collins noted to both Alec and Ellen, the N on his easy chair, reading classical literature from an actual paper book, and Ellen on the couch with her. The male Ryder snorted as he put a bookmark in Huxley's _Brave New World_ as he looked to his children.

"Three questions each, one at a time alternating in between, nothing about death." The Pathfinder spoke, his tone soft by firm. The effect on the children was immediate; they took it seriously, and didn't question it. The level of respect that they had for their father was profound, and Sam rather envied them that. "Think them over before you blurt, and then it will be off to bed with you two."

"Can… Scott go first?" Sara asked, her tone respectful. "Mine might make a long answer." To that, the Marshal nodded her head, looking to the twelve year-old boy, whose face scrunched up before his eyes popped open.

"I saw the vid of you stacking and entering your Marshals' Office with the Sailors. Rumors say it was because your boss was a traitor. What happened?" Collins found that to be a good and reasonable question.

"At the time of the assault," Sam began, "I was arresting him for Falsification of Customs Documents for certain, with probable evidence with knowledge and collusion in the slavers' ring known as the Trail of Tears Consortium. Know what that is?" Both kids nodded solemnly, Alec frowning but saying nothing. "There were a whole host of charges to include slavery, murder, and corruption. But high treason was also involved, though I didn't know it during the raid; he had been selling Alliance Patrol schedules to the Consortium so they could operate in the free-and-clear." The N-Level Sailor's face went an ugly dark color, but said nothing; he was probably well aware of what happened in the House of Horrors. "So yes, Bart Weathers very much was a traitor, but I didn't know it at the time, discovering it on his work station when I took over his position."

"Serves him right!" All eager righteousness out of the youth. Was she ever so young? Sadly, Sam couldn't remember those times that well due to her Autism. It wasn't that she couldn't remember anything, but she had a hard time grasping concepts at the time, as well as associating interpretations. When she finally worked her way into 'discovery', her cognitive awareness practically burst forth.

"My turn, Silver Medal." The older twin smirked as she looked to Collins with a more serious face. "What made you be a cop? I mean, I know you're young for the job, so something must have driven you to reach it."

"Impressive. Intuitive and deducing." Sam complimented the young pre-teenager, making her blush slightly. "Yes, I was driven, there was an incident when I was… well, I was about fourteen at the time." Should she tell a twelve year old such stories? "I… am a Shanxi orphan, and I was never adopted due to my condition." Scott was about to blurt, but Sara smacked him in time, shaking her head no. "We had a caretaker that was doing something very wrong involving the girls in my orphanage, girls who were born with ailments, and a fertility drug."

"Son of a…" Alec Ryder's face grew very dark, and very murderous. "I remember hearing about that. Man wasn't even convicted because…" Ryder looked at her, and his face shifted. "There was only one witness to the whole ordeal, but her testimony was tossed because she didn't make for a credible witness."

"I'd like to add that I felt the Detective on the case was rather lacking in his efforts, too." Sam responded, feeling that old anger within her, what truly changed her life. "That… that's what made me want to be a cop. To be a voice for the voiceless and the defenseless. We were being… taken advantage of and the only thing that they did was remove the man from my orphanage. The crime went unpunished. Young women who were trusting those appointed to take care of us…" Sam had to choke it back, closing her eyes with a snap as she forced herself to be calm, not to give into that pain and anger from that incident. It wasn't easy talking about, not even to an adult, much less tweens. She held her breath for a long moment, focusing her mind, ignoring the emotions and released it when she had control a few moments later. She opened her eyes and noted how startled the kids looked, how sad Ellen looked, how _mad_ Alec looked while the room filled with books and love was met with silence as eyes stared at her and no one was saying a word lids opening wider as pupils focused on her faces dropping in shock as mouths opened gaping holes that matched their eyes the little girl walked towards her her hand hand reaching out touching her arm…

…Touching her, Sam focused on the touch and her eyes snapped back onto Sara's. Focused on them.

"It's okay." The girl smiled, her face slightly saddened. "Our uncle has Autism, too."

"I… thank you." Sam shook her head and calmed her breathing and ignored everything that wasn't immediately in front of her, keeping her attention… limited. "That… was why I wanted to be a cop. Because of that. Because people deserve to be listened to, no matter who they are or what they have." Sara and Scott both nodded in unison, their eyes understanding. "I became a Marshal Deputy because the Alliance Frontier Marshal's were the only law enforcement agency that showed itself to be interested in me, the big obstacle being my age. Most police agencies want a candidate to be at least twenty-one, while I am nineteen."

"That worked out pretty well then, didn't it?" Scott smiled, obviously getting it. "The House of Horrors and Trail of Tears were supposedly discovered by you. It'd be still going if you hadn't showed up. That Jackal guy would still be free, too."

"The Battle of Therum wouldn't have happened, either." That came as a shock to the twins, though Alec immediately shook his head to that. He knew of Grissom's plan.

"The Batarians have been growing steadily worse in the past ten years, ever since we gained an Embassy and the Council let us keep the colonies we already had in the Attican Traverse and gave us borders that practically cut off Hegemony Space." Ryder protested, his voice calm but sure. He did work in the Diplomatic Security Services, so he had better and harder intel than she did. "Something like that was going to happen sooner or later, and probably when we least expected it. As painful as it is to admit it, I'd rather what happened on Therum be the situation; a host of people on top of their game and on the ball when the situation was discovered early on, rather than what happened to Mindoir. As bad as Therum was, it went well on the practical scale. Despite the losses of the Sailors and Marines, I don't doubt that many of them felt that the cause was worth it, and those that survived knew that those sacrifices were justified. I know it can hurt, but you won a victory that would have had many quaking in fear. You were there when the people needed someone to be there. Never doubt that." To that, Sam just nodded slowly, understanding Alec points, even agreeing with it. Yes, it did hurt to think of it at times, but they had been prepared and ready. If it had been somewhere else with a larger populace to cover and few defenders, the casualty rate would have been much, much worse. Or it could have easily been smaller locations like New Edmonton on Mindoir had been, galactic politics denying the Alliance the ability to react as it had happened in 2170 in the name of peace. No, those Marines knew what could happen, and would have probably agreed completely with Ryder; there was no better moment for humanity to stand up and show what they could do.

"Thank you." The Marshal said to the Pathfinder, dipping her head towards him, thankful to listen to someone who would know and understand, a Shanxi Vet who had endured far worse than she. "For inviting me to your home. For your help and encouragement. For… everything."

"Well," the older man smiled, "human lives matter."

\- A Fox Amongst The Wolves -

Marshal Sam Collins woke up the next in the Ryder's guest room, really just a closet with a hide-away bed with some shelves set above the bed partition for storage. The bed hadn't been the most comfortable one she had ever slept in, but she appreciated the gesture all the same. Her other options had been to either rent a hotel room in the Human Wards with little knowledge of where she was going, or to test her supposed apartment that _Centurion Magnus_ Nihlus Kryik and Strike Huntress Tela Vasir had secured her in the 1100 Block. Sam promised herself that she would check it out today when she got the chance, but she had some more important matters to attend to.

What she wanted to do was get to work.

She got changed out of her nightclothes after being told by Doctor Ellen Ryder that the shower was offered and available, getting into her causal clothing after feeling a bit better after the relaxing feel of warm water and cleaning herself after her travel from the Arc. Coffee was made, and breakfast was a simple but hearty affair; toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon, all coming pre-packaged and heated in the inverter microwave, ready in less than a minute. She was joined by Captain Alec Clancy Ryder at first at the breakfast nook, and then by Sara and Scott Ryder as well, the kids drinking fortified powdered orange drink instead of coffee. Thankfully, the coffee was real.

"So, what's on the schedule, Marse?" Ryder asked as he forked more eggs into his mouth, speaking before eating. The man had manners and decorum, and made sure his kids did the same. They had already been admonished about having elbows on the table, and Sam had to stop herself from chuckling about that. Ryder had already informed her last night that the Diplomatic Security Services would be letting himself be 'borrowed' by the Marshal for the next few weeks for local knowledge, expertise, and advice, all approved by Ambassador Anita Doyle. Honestly, she couldn't have asked for better than the Pathfinder.

"Office for rent, need a space to work from." Collins replied as she finished chewing her buttered toast. "So we're going to do what guys absolutely love to do; shopping." She smirked at Ellen, who looked rather bemused at that. "Then it's office furniture and computers. I've got a budget and things to order. Who knew running a kickstarter program would be so fun?"

"Makes me glad I had the Systems Alliance do the deciding and buying for me." Ryder commented dryly. "Is the SA shipping anything to you?"

"A few specialty items that I'm not going to find on the civilian markets." Collins had sent the request to the Alliance Federal Marshal Services for some of the items, knowing that she was going to be needing a much more comprehensive office than most out in the frontier. She was literally sitting in the heart of galactic civilization; she was going to need the equipment to run murder investigations and white-collared crimes at a level of sophistication that wouldn't be expected in, say, Demeter or Sirona. She had already put in the request with Staff Marshal Emilio Torres, who had promised to pass off any request through proper channels for her, knowing she would have her hands full. She wondered what Torres would think of a Full-Spectrum DNA Analyzer, a Microscopic-Detailed Data Collection Unit, DNA Collection Device, Fingerprint Scanning Equipment, and several manufacturing licenses to macrofabricate expendable investigative tools and items that she would need. She was literally building a Marshal's Office from the ground up with an already-invested population, as well as on foreign soil. She was literally in uncharted territory. She had lists of what she would need, and prioritized when she would need them. That, of course, was only a part of it.

What she really needed was Deputies. A lot of them.

Sam had been forwarded several potential hires from Earth Alliance Space on the possible recruitment of Deputies that might be willing to transfer (from various Marshal's Offices) or Officers from other jurisdictions (Police Departments and Sheriff's Departments on Earth, Global Bureau of Investigations for EarthGov, and even one from the ATFE and another from the Territory Rangers from Texas). She was being loaned Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino and Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason from the Navy for an undisclosed period of time (years, likely) as well as Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard until August, when Cadet Summer began in London. Sam knew those three, knew their work and efforts on Therum, as well as having training and experience on their sides as Systems Alliance Military Police. Having three trained MP's who were more use to dealing with drunk and obnoxious muscle-bound Marines who were trained in the art of hand-to-hand and firearms would be a boon, obvious muscle for patrols and incidences. But Sam need more than just meat; she needed investigators and detectives, technicians and researchers, administrators and secretaries. She was literally going to be running a full-sized Police Department in a highly-populated, condensed area surrounded on all sides by a foreign jurisdiction manned by non-humans.

The task, to say the least, was daunting.

Breakfast was finished as Alec and Sam got ready for their expedition, wearing their respective outing uniforms. Once again, Alec had his speeder jacket with its N-Level identifier while Sam wore her Blazer, her Glock Safe Arms Model 18C Machine Pistol in its shoulder rig under her blazer while Alec had his SOCOM Eagle Mk. VII under his own arm, both of them nodding their readiness as Ryder kissed his wife and hugged his kids before leaving, Sam thanking them for their hospitality.

Their first stop was a failed business store in the 0900 Block. The walk there wasn't bad, Sam and Alec using the main boulevards to move through the Human Wards as the Marshal watched people move to and from their destinations, life marching on as she saw businesses, residential, commercial, industrial, food-related, drink-related, and entertainment-purposes littering the boulevard. It was as different from the Market Square in Nova Yekaterinburg on Therum as Earth was different from Luna, real shops and businesses as oppose to shanty-stores being hounded by the Planetary Brotherhood of Teamsters and miners looking for some distraction from their hard labor existences. The Citadel was well-lit, temperature controlled, clean, and… it didn't have the feel of No'burg. Sam didn't see dozens of hard-faced leering men looking at her as both a piece of meat to fuck and a pig to dash her skull in, constant guard and vigilance needed in the Districts. No, here people were clean, dressed well, and looked for the most part content. It was a much different situation than No'burg, and Sam almost felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight of children, little ones scampering about with their parents, younger than Sara and Scott. The sight of a smiling toddler had her almost wistful at the sight, and Alec noticed, probably knowing why she was so moved at the sight, both Revan and Therum. She almost jumped out of her skin from a circular station advertisement that called out her name, enticing 'Samantha' to check out the new Haliat Industries' 2176 Cipritine Ghost Contragravity Sports Flyer, the cylindrical advertisement post showing a holographic image of the sleek-and-fast Turian sports flyer zooming through the advert. That had Ryder laughing.

She also passed at least three Citadel Security Services Patrols, a dozen Turians in each armed with Elanus Risk Control Services M-15 Vindicator Battle Rifles and wearing Elanus Risk Control Services' Duelist Armor, all colored in 'C-SEC' blue-n-black, fully armored and helmeted, a wide berth given to the stalking Officers as humans parted from their way, very quiet and cowed.

Reaching the 0900 Block hadn't been a chore, only a minor checkpoint separating the 0800 Block from the 0900 Block, manned by four Turians who seemed a little less zealous than their co-workers stationed at the Citadel Public Transportation Authority Lot where many people entered the Human Wards. Both she and Alec were scanned (after showing their credentials for possessing legal-to-carry firearms) and went through with little fuss or intimidation, and Sam wasn't enjoying the feeling of being on the 'other' side of the law. Still, she hadn't seen any brutality infractions or obvious intimidation issues yet, though she didn't doubt it would come up. There were many markings on walls, spray paint indicating what C-SEC and Turians in general could do with themselves, to include light-board posters and announcements. More than a few brought up 'HUMAN LIVES MATTER' in big, bold letters. She wondered if there was something more to it than just graffiti, and when she looked to Ryder, he noticed that she was looking at it, and silently gestured that they would talk about it later; probably in a place of privacy where they couldn't be overheard. He had mentioned those exact words last night, and she wondered if there was something going on, something she wasn't privy to. Her two months on Therum hadn't inflicted onto her a great deal of the going-ons of the Citadel and its human populous, though stories and highlights came up on Alliance News Network on occasion.

The 0900 Block (Lower Ward) was much like the 0800 one; residency buildings buttressed with shops, locales, businesses, employment, and people. Hologram adverts decorated the sides of the walls as light-form displays arched over the boulevards for commercials, public service announcements, and news updates. There was a general soundtrack that was playing Asari-styled Muzak, the hustle-and-bustle of the citizenry thankfully drowning out most of the choir-and-electronica timber tones. Sam consulted her minimap on her Apple Corps iTool and found that the first location was just around the block, in the 0820 Section, right off the main boulevard. She looked up to find the location once reverifying the address, seeing what appeared to be an empty storefront sandwiched between (of all things) a convenience store and a pawnshop. Whatever had been in between before had bellied-up for whatever reason, despite being in between two high-trafficked businesses. Perhaps… robbery?

"Nice location." Alec grunted as he looked around, seeing that, while there weren't exactly 'shadier' streets on the Citadel, there was definitely a shadier feel to it, only twenty meters away from the main boulevard down a fairly decent-sized PedWay heading towards another smaller intersection. "This is the Catfish Market."

"They sell fish here?" Collins asked, a little surprised. She certainly didn't see any grocery stores or seafood restaurants reaching the location.

"Um… no." The N-Level Sailor looked faintly embarrassed. "I guess you're not into ExtraNet Dating Sites like CitadelSingles or ManyFishInTheSea." The Marshal was aware that such things existed, but who had the time? Or the inclination? Besides, that was the perfect way to get scammed or one's identity stolen… fishing for something with a big mouth? "'Catfishing' means to look for a date while… misrepresenting yourself." The older man replied, wincing slightly, obvious uncomfortable with something. "Usually, it's posting a different picture that isn't yourself. The Catfish Market got that name because when the Citadel Allocation Authority decided to opening up the next Block for humanity, they said they would do a better job than what the 0800 Block ordeal was. The Market itself was… mostly a vagrant area of Quarians that they stuffed there to keep them out of the way."

"Charming." The Marshal replied dryly as the two of them approached the office, the door showing a small red holographic icon in the middle, to indicate that it was closed and locked, and frosted Plexiglas shutters had been adhered to the two large storefront bay windows to either side of the door in the middle. "Well, can't see much from the outside, and the landlord isn't here."

"'Slumlord' may be more apt." Ryder folded his arms across his chest as he looked around the neighborhood, eyeballing the secondary boulevard and intersection that the business stood in front of, the trafficked route much more narrow than that of the main boulevard, perhaps only six meters across. There were people walking along its path, but Sam noticed that the clientele that were going into the convenience store and the pawn shop looked a good deal shabbier and less well-to-do. So, this is what a poor section looked like on the Citadel. She saw another graffiti sign announcing that human lives mattered, where a group of people conglomerated, looking apparently unemployed as they gossiped and squabbled amongst themselves, older than teenagers but younger than middle age. Perhaps mid-twenties. Sam briefly wondered what the employment market looked like on the Citadel for the average human. "I think this is her coming up." Collins' eyes immediately snapped to the person in question, and she almost wondered how Ryder might know, the woman in question wasn't what she would expect. Dressed neither well nor sensibly, the dumpy-looking woman was an older one, perhaps young forties, with an interesting hairstyle in which one side was shaved to the scalp, and a portion of one temple was braided to the scalp in corn rolls while the top was teased and styled in some poufy manner; it did not look well. The manner of attire was a bit circumspect as well; the woman wore a shirt that declared her favorite philosophy in life (i.e. red bold letters suggesting 'Go Fuck Yourself') with tight black yoga pants. How Ryder suspected this was the woman was beyond her save that she was openly carrying a datapad cover that looked nicer than her entire wardrobe.

"You Samantha?" The woman asked as she walked right up to the both of them, the woman's brown eyes touching them both before directing themselves to Collins. "'Cuz I ain't got all day for you and your dad, sweetheart." That had Alec looking amused while Sam did her best not to sigh out loud. Charm school had not been in the woman's repertoire, evidently.

"I am Samantha." She nodded her head once simply, the woman snorting as she did an once-over on her, standing in an impatient stance. She was obviously unimpressed, and the feeling was mutual. "I and my partner here are here to look into renting this location." She used her chin to point out the closed-down location between the convenience store and the pawnshop.

"What for?" The woman asked, her tone smarmy and suspect, her eyes narrowing as she fished out a Vape electronic smoking apparatus from (no kidding) the inside of her shirt, undoubtedly stashed in her bra. Sam wasn't impressed with the tactic or lack of decorum.

"Business venture." Collins replied quickly and professionally, not about to tell this obviously less-than-amicable woman that she was an Alliance Federal Marshal that was about to use her office space to run a law enforcement agency out of it. "Both my partner and I are in the market for a starter spot to run our office out of." The line of questioning, while not unrealistic, was coming from someone of a rather dubious nature. Unless the rentable space came with jail cells, Sam wasn't likely to get it, but she might as well look at it and get an idea what to expect.

"Y'all ain't gonna run some interactive porn studio out of it, are ya?"

"W… _what?_ "

\- A Fox Amongst The Wolves -

The woman's name was Janice, and Marshal Sam Collins was not under the impression that she was going to like the woman or enjoy her company. She liked the office space even less.

The office space proved to be small and rather unwieldy; it was just over seven hundred and sixty square meters in size, and shaped like the classic rectangle with two separate offices in the back, left and right, obviously for administrative and storage purposes in mind. The problem was that the 'average' space an Officer of the Law needed to perform their duties in an adequate amount of space was seventy-six square meters; that was the 'average'. Unless Sam was looking forward to running a Marshal's Office with nine Deputies or less, the space wouldn't suffice. There would be no extra rooms or bays for such things as a forensics lab, holding and processing, a squad tactical room, interview/interrogation rooms, or even necessary lockable rooms such as the armory or special equipment. There was also no kind of security to the place unless she wanted to add the expense of installing or macrofabircating a huge Plexiglas wall in front of the door and chopping some of the squad room/dispatch office off. Sam looked to Captain Alec Ryder and subtly shook her head no to indicate her thoughts on the location. She didn't care about the apparent seediness of the neighborhood, as just having a law enforcement agency in the area would probably drastically change that inside of a week. No, she wasn't about to kickstart some half-baked Marshal's Office from the inside of a cubbyhole. It was going to cost Credits no matter what she did, and she'd rather spend Credits once on something satisfactory than waste a lesser amount on something less-than-adequate. Five minutes into the 'show', and Sam was walking out the door with Alec in tow, leaving Janice behind them as the woman huffed out.

The second place was in the 1300 Block (Sky Wards), right off the main boulevard. There was actually a 'park' nearby with trees that were from Eden Prime, and an elementary school that was equally close-by. The owner of the location, an older gentleman named Paul, was better dressed than the previous woman, wearing a civilian-oriented suit robe popular on the Citadel, mainly in somber hues. The location itself was a former restaurant of some kind that measured an impressive fifteen hundred plus square meters, with more than enough room to separate areas for departments inside the Office. There was even a receiving door in the back, meaning her Deputies could exit without using the public entrance like they had back in No'burg.

The front of the restaurant, obviously the former dining area, was quite large, easily accommodating what could be a lobby, a squad room, holding cells, public conference rooms, and public-use water closets. The rear end, what had been the kitchen area and storage area, along with two small offices for the restaurants' management and file room, was equally just as nice, able to incorporate a forensics lab, jail cells, an armory, an investigators' suite, and records room without being cramped. With this kind of space, Sam could have twenty Deputies without issues, starting up a Marshal's Office from there and working on getting something built hopefully later on to incorporate a full compliment of a full agency of law enforcement as oppose to a small sub-station, but it would do nicely as a starting point. Paul walked them through the former restaurant, explaining fixtures and amenities to both Alec and herself as the N-Level Sailor looked around as well, obviously just as impressed as she with what he saw. While he might not know the logistics needed to run such an Office, she didn't doubt that he might be comparing it to what the Diplomatic Security Services Corps had back in the Embassy, getting a crash course on what it must have taken to create such an endeavor. While she had several more places of interest that she had appointments to, Sam already knew that she was unlikely to find a place better than this. She looked to Ryder and smiled.

Until she heard the rent. It was half her operational budget, _per month_! No wonder the restaurant failed.

The third place, stationed in the 1250 Block (Mid Wards), was an almost immediate write-off once the proprietor of the former small-scale storage facility let them in, Nancy apologizing for running a few minutes late as she fumbled with the access key. The office/lobby was a cramped room dominated by a singular desk, barely big enough to qualify as a bedroom. The facility behind the small office was equally unimpressive; the ten storage rooms were of the same size as the narrow building save that there was a corridor running down the length of it, with ten small lockable rooms. Even if they took down the walls, it would still be a narrow space with a too-small lobby. Sam had no issues thanking the woman for her time and declining the offer. It wouldn't have made a good Pit.

The fourth place was an almost-immediate bust as well; it was inside a small Arcology building, what was once a small gift shop for those living in the building and leaving through the plaza. The Arcology was in the 1190 Block (Scows) in the Backers; the area near the back-end of the Level where it was nearest the Citadel's Hull. The space itself wasn't much more than a living room sized tenant meant to sell small sundries and snacks for passing inhabitants. Besides, the Arcology itself was an obvious ghetto-styled building that obviously suffered lack of maintenance from whoever was suppose to keep up with the day-to-day routines of keeping the building fully functional. Lights flickered in certain places, there were busted pieces of equipment scattered along the walls and their remains on the floor, and the walls themselves were decorated with obvious gang markings and graffiti. She knew she'd be seeing the inside of this Arcology quite a bit just by the looks of it. Ryder was equally unimpressed with the potential Office, the Arcology, and the landlord, a scruffy-looking gentleman with red-veins decorating his corneas; the telltale sign of a Sander. Sam was almost half-tempted to arrest him on the spot and use the gift shop as a treatment clinic by forcing the man through Red Sand withdrawals to gain information from him; eyebrow-raising, but perfectly legal since it wasn't considered coercion or torture, no matter what the weaning user might think. She opted not to, considering she had the man's contact information through CWardsList and could come back at a later time for a little 'encouragement' in a cleaner lifestyle. They walked out with nary a word said.

The fifth and final place for the day was… adequate. It was a stand-alone in the 1110 Block (Mid Ward), just butting the 'roof' of the Upper Wards, known as Glass Ceiling; when one stepped outside, they could see artificial sky. If Sam hadn't seen her other options, she wouldn't have even consider it considering the layout of the location. It wasn't one place but two; a tech-investment firm had joined together with an electronic supply store for an obvious hand-in-hand partnership that had suffered the bad luck of an embezzling manager who lined his pockets with profits and let the venture fail, leaving unemployed workers behind and clueless while he settled on a human colony somewhere in the Hades Nexus Cluster with a trophy wife and a retirement fund. Each 'side' was approximately six hundred plus square meters, which would give her a fair size squad room, a decent lobby, and a few other necessities in the supply store side while converting the tech firm into the operations side of the Office.

Already Sam was beginning to populate the hollowed stores in her mind; a lobby with two water closets to one side, and two public-use rooms on the other, with a desk partitioning a squad room with at least ten desks containing monitors, probably needing to be shared by the Deputies. As it was a supply store, there was a good-sized supply room in the back that could be used for containment; jail cells, interrogation room, armory, files and records, and evidence. The other side could host the dispatch office, an inspectors' office, a tactical/conference room, rooms for supervisors and herself, and a small forensics lab. The owner, surprisingly a Salarian who seemed to be a bit of a real estate mogul on the Citadel, was offering the locations together in a deal; the stores had been integrated, and Dortok Iral had no want to incur the expense of going through the electrical and connectivity systems of the stores and dismantle them without getting some recompense for it. While not as large as the former restaurant, the space would suffice into creating a Marshal's Office with at least twelve to fifteen Deputies to start off. The rent was reasonable, too, a contractional lease that lasted at least two years, and wasn't even a tenth of her monthly operational budget. There was work that would need to be done, obviously, and contractors and construction would be needed, which would probably eat into her starter funds. Not to mention furniture, computers, lockers, equipment, armor…

Before she knew it, Collins realized that she was already picturing it _all_ in her mind; a desk manned by a Senior Deputy, a Sergeant-of-the-Watch running the lobby while Deputies worked the squad room for assignments, reports, intelligence, and BOLO's. She could see the desk placements now, with monitors attached being worked by men and women, a supervising Deputy making sure that the correct paperwork was filled out and completed correctly, the office being over… _there_ , near where the door connecting the electronic supply story and the tech firm laid. She could picture it now is if it were happening right now, hearing the voices of Deputies talking and telling stories while some citizen comes in with some issue that needs resolving, the Duty Deputy inquiring while tasking out one of the patrollers to address it while on the tech firm side, Detectives worked the cased that weren't solved by the patrollers, collecting and reviewing reports, interviews and evidence for clues and indications, interviewing suspects and witnesses in segregated rooms…

"Hey." Alec brought her attention back to the now, and Sam quickly shook out of her reverie, looking at the Captain as he looked at her with… caring eyes. "I could see you dreaming it. Why stop now?"

"Indeed." Collins replied, taking a deep breath and remembering that moment; a fully running and operational Marshal's Office, a day like any other, Deputies sworn to serve and protect both people and property. Why stop there? She looked to Dortok and smiled.

"We'll take it."

\- A Fox Amongst The Wolves -

Contract signed and first-and-last transferred to the Salarian landlord's business account, Marshal Sam Collins and Captain Alec Ryder went to a local restaurant to celebrate, Alec sending some pics and stills he had taken to his wife Ellen to update them on their progress while Sam herself had taken a few and sending them to Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino, Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason, and Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard. The Naval Military Police Officers would be arriving at the end of the week when their shore leave was over, and she wanted to keep them in the loop to let them know what they would be walking into, as well as keeping in contact with her friends. Sam indulged in a Chicken Caesar Salad and a glass of sweetened iced tea while Alec ordered fish and chips with tartar sauce and a pint of imported Irish stout. The restaurant, McMenamins, was a traditional pub/brewery that did its best to incorporate the old-school pub feel having lacquered wood furniture and bar, glass receptacles, and an atmosphere that was geared towards communal hospitality. Sam found herself enjoying both the location and the food as Alec put down his foot in picking up the bill, the older man as stubborn as a mule when it came to being a gentleman. Collins let it slide (this time) and determined herself to enjoying the meal and the feeling of success. It was after lunch by the time they finished, and more shopping was required. Thankfully, the Human Wards were set up like any metropolitan city, and almost everything she needed to acquire could be found traveling the length of the main boulevard to visit its many shops and businesses. Sam had a grocery list of items and equipment that she needed to get for the new up-and-coming Marshal's Office, and she was literally sitting in the best location in the galaxy when it came to electronics and tech.

As she told Alec earlier that morning, they were going shopping.

The first stop was to a local furniture store more oriented for office and business-related purchases than domicile, and together, Sam and Alec perused the catalog on the kiosk of the store before finding several options that both thought suitable to their needs, the Pathfinder working in a capacity similar to a Marshal's Office and knowing what kinds of office equipment he found favorable in the past. The grocery list for office furniture was extensive; personnel desks, office-oriented chairs, datapad filing cabinets, personnel lockers, tables, storage cabinets, shelving units, and lightboards.

The second store she went to was a Solar Electronics computer and electronics supply store. Sam quickly perused the ordering kiosk for what she knew to be the basics; datapads, styluses, GUI-interfaced SmartGloves for working on several stations and terminals, parity-time symmetry inductive charging stations for OmniTools, two separate servers, datapads and other personal electronic devices, and computer terminals with standard holographic monitors and Haptic-sensored input devices such as keyboards, hand-to-screen detection, and eye-sync'ing display. Collins stopped at getting ten as a starter, knowing that it would take time for her to hire Deputies, but at least having somewhere for the first several to work with the corresponding equipment necessary for them to execute their duties. The visit to the office furniture store and the computer store burned through a good quarter of her budget, and including the first-and-last, Sam was glad that she decided to keep it simple but effective for the time being; who was to say what the next few weeks would look like?

The next store she went to was a misnomer; a 'tactical equipment' store. Considering that it was located on the Citadel where the average citizen was not allowed to possess any kind of physical weapon, lethal or non-lethal, nor electronic weapon, like Apps intended to cause harm or duress, the idea of a tactical equipment store seemed like a joke. But humanity, being humanity, loved its MilTech and LETech, and getting basic equipment that skirted but didn't break CitLaw was easily done. Both the Marshal and the Pathfinder went clothing shopping first, finding black-styled RipStop cargo pants and black pleather combat boots in many styles and sizes, ranging from historic to comfort. There were military-oriented shirts and paraphernalia to be had, as well as law enforcement-oriented as well, and Sam found it disgustingly easy to purchase 'MARSHAL' decals and clothing placards for any necessary equipment that might be needed and identification vital. She even found ballistic bodysuits (Protective Posture Level-I, rated at five hundred Joules) for sale in several sizes, meant to stop light-caliber rounds like her 5 gram Glock, though Ryder's 7.5 gram SOCOM would go right through. She did see ablative paint-coated polyurethane arm guards and shin guards meant to do the same for the limbs, adding an extra level of ballistic protection, as well as that for slashing, piercing, and bludgeoning, and she inquired the Pathfinder the merits of possibly purchasing a few of those for raids and serving warrants. He suggested adding a similar version tactical vest and helmet as well, obviously thinking of a more tactical approach, like a response team. Sam went ahead and purchased four complete sets, adding PlastiCuffs and UltraFire's 8000LM CREE XML T6 LED Flashlight to the list. Collins didn't doubt she would be visiting the tactical equipment store in the future for miscellaneous needs and replacements.

The last place she went shopping wasn't a store, but a general contractor company known as Weiss Construction. While Sam knew how to connect computers and even how to create a Stand-Alone Network, creating an office-like department that was up-and-running as oppose to cobbled together with guesses and wishes. The contractor in question was experienced in both setting up offices and connecting various IT suites for modern offices, and she knew that, despite the price of the contractor and the several workers that the man would have under him, the cost was well worth it in the long run. Police departments throughout the galaxy ran off of technology, and having an _ad hoc_ that could be faulty and riddled with problems was self-defeating, so Sam was determined to have it done right the first time. She even indicated to the man that this wouldn't be the first time she would be needing the services of someone to install equipment and setting up an office environment, and that a job well done would guarantee a repeat customer. The price was a little higher than she wished, but his work also came with warrantees towards damages during installation as well as satisfaction.

The contract came with the price of expected PlastiGel, CeramiGel, and MetalGel usage, the company bringing its own macrofabricating unit with a plethora of licenses attached for creating a literally hundreds of configurations and needs for offices and suites. The man tasked for the job, Robert Hawthorne, was a licensed Civil Engineer who would look at the space available as well as the requirements necessary, integrating the blueprints, schematics, power grid, and attachment suites of her new Office and build a construction layout design to maximize use and space; efficiency was key in any environment, whether it was a data-entry company or law enforcement. The man himself was an older one with years of experience under his belt in a wide variety of locations, and Collins was amused to see that the man was actually responsible for no less than _two_ Marshal's Offices in the past; one in New Thebes, Anhur and the other in New Karnak, Yamm. He gave a tentative deadline of five days from start to completion, knowing of the location but never having seeing it before. Hawthorne promised to drop into the new location the next day, after the time of the scheduled delivery arrivals of the equipment that Collins had bought for her Office so he could start coming up with ideas and getting to work. Sam liked the man's competency and confidence, and shook his hand before she and Alec left.

"That was a good day." Captain Alec Ryder said after leaving Weiss Construction, set up in the Upper Wards of the 1000 Block, Sam having touched a decent portion of the Human Wards during the day looking at the various potential locations for her Office and the shopping spree. She would be going through almost half of her monthly-allocated budget, but that was okay, since starting up was always expensive. She wasn't so naive to think that she would have an Office up and running by the end of the week with everything she would need, as purchases and needs would be a constant and continuous thing with the advance of technology, techniques, and various avenues that criminals would use to avoid being prosecuted. They would hardly be set up for white-collared crime or even green-collared crimes; the general name in use for dealing with mercenaries, bounty hunters, soldiers of fortune, and others who used the semi-legal services available throughout the galaxy to commit atrocities and vile acts and claim that they were 'under contract', and thus the company or patronage of the person who hired them was liable. She was at least becoming geared towards the more pedestrian crimes; blue-collared workplace violence and acts crime, domestic violence and infractions, smuggling and customs fraud, and the Big Three; murder, larceny, and assault. It might be some time before she started receiving some of the specialty equipment that the Marshal Services and the Global Bureau of Investigations would be loaning her, so it would be back to old-fashioned clue-hunting and fact-busting, which Sam didn't mind at all. Cops had been solving crime since before the days of the advent of fingerprints, DNA-spectrometers, and chemical-analysis labs, and a good many didn't need such marvels of technology to solve. Besides, it would give her first Deputies a sense of accomplishment to work their brains to truly solve crimes, using intellect and grunt work against those who deigned to break the law.

"Agreed." Collins replied, feeling a strong sense of satisfaction within herself and what she accomplished today. She had expected it to take longer, honestly, trying to find a good location that would be useable for her first Marshal's Office, knowing that it would be unlikely that she would fine a singular place big enough to house the required amount of law enforcement personnel for the population of the Human Wards' size. Two hundred was the target number of Deputies that would be needed for a minimal, and Sam had to realistically accept that she'd likely have perhaps a dozen or so within a month if she were lucky, and that was if she hired people with prior law enforcement experience. She wasn't about to let any ole' riffraff into her Office only to see calls of excessive force, brutality, corruption, extortion, and realistic intimidation to make her job that much more difficult. "I'm wondering if I should look at my apartment and see if its ruined or not. It _was_ decorated by a Maiden." That had the N-Level Sailor snort as they walked towards a light-rail station that were for mass public transportation needs heading not only through the individual Sections of the Block, but also through the Human Wards themselves (a separate train running through the length of the Zakera Arm had a singular station in the Human Wards, policed heavily by C-SEC, evidently). Her apartment was located in the Mid-Wards of the 1040 Block, which Alec called 'Taxes' due to the similarities to the annual tax form all Systems Alliance citizens were required to fill out. The apartment building itself, named 'Shangri-La Tower', had her snorting at the name as she looked up at the thirty-story building in question, seeing that it, at least, seemed in good condition.

"What is it with apartment buildings or complexes and having celestial or fantastical names?" The Marshal asked the Pathfinder, looking to Ryder for a moment before entering through the lobby of the building. "You live in Elysium Fields. I live in Shangri-La Tower. We must have past a dozen named after some heavenly aspect."

"Huh, never thought about it before. Never noticed, either." The N-Level Sailor replied, scratching at his chin. "Obviously, no one wants to live in a place called 'Shithole Palace' or 'What-a-Dump'." That had Collins chuckling as they walked through the lobby, a simple motif ran by an automated robodrone greeter that automatically scanned them with a microsecond flash of light and welcomed ' _User: Samantha Collins and Guest: Alec Ryder_ ' to the residency. The elevator lift had four available options to take, Sam selecting one after reconfirming which floor and apartment number was hers thanks to a message to her personal EN-Box from _Centurion Magnus_ Nihlus Kryik. The apartment number was '2905', so she assumed that it meant that she lived on the twenty-ninth floor. The both of them entered into the lift and Collins waived her Apple Corps iTool at the panel, getting access to the darkened screen as it turned green and the Haptic display lit up. The twenty-ninth floor was selected by her as the lift began to ascend, the floor counter going quickly as Collins and Ryder waited, listening to more human-oriented Muzak that sounded as if it came from an ancient video game as the lift finally halted its progress at the twenty-ninth floor a minute and a half later. The doors parted open as Sam left the lift and found herself in a sparse corridor that was carpeted thinly and had light brown coloring on its walls. The first door leading to an apartment was a good ways away from the lift, with one across from it, numbered '2901' and '2902'. It took almost half a minute of walking to reach the next set, and Sam had a sinking feeling that Nihlus hadn't skimped on getting her an apartment despite being a single woman. '2903' and '2904' went by and she looked to the Pathfinder with an apologetic look, having seen his own apartment with four people living in it. Just the apparent size, without her even looking inside yet, suggested that the apartments might be three times the size of the Ryder's. They finally reached the next set of doors, and the Marshal saw that there was no more corridor afterwards; there was literally only six apartments to the floor, which was at least one hundred meters long, and perhaps one hundred meters wide. She did the math quickly in her head; thirty-three meters wide for three apartments, minus a meter for separation, and fifty meters long minus a meter and a half for the corridor. If that were true… she would have a fifteen _hundred_ square meter apartment, fifteen hundred and fifty-two, to be exact! That wasn't an apartment, that was practically an executive penthouse suite! How the hell was she suppose to afford something like that!

"I must apologize up front." Sam winced as she reached the door labeled '2905', seeing the access panel but not moving to unlock the pneumatically-sealed door, turning to Alec. "A friend of mine got me this apartment, and I have no idea what's beyond this door save that he commented that the color scheme was akin to someone having beaten a varren to death in it." She had never seen a varren in real life, the native-born scavengers of the Krogan home world of Tuchanka, looking something in between mongrel dogs that were fish-like in scale, eyes and certain species concerning its long, needle-like teeth. Now that she thought about it, she had no idea what color blood varren actually had. Perhaps it wasn't an unpleasant color. "And… an Asari Maiden may have furnished it. I have no idea what we're walking into, but the words 'Meld Nest' may have been used." That had the N chuckling as Sam sighed and ran her OmniTool over the access panel as the door's holographic lock icon turned from red to green, indicating that the door was now accessible. The Marshal took a deep breath and walked towards the door, letting it open automatically before her.

\- A Fox Amongst The Wolves -

She brought the whole Ryder family over for a visit later that night, after dinner had been finished.

"Holy cow!" Scott Michael Ryder exclaimed enthusiastically as he dashed inside first, with Sara Elaine Ryder hot on his heels as the Ryder twins burst into the enormous condominium with exuberance. Captain Alec Clancy Ryder and Doctor Ellen Dana Ryder walked in next, hand-in-hand as the Doctor gasped as she walked inside with her husband at her side, the researchers' eyes undoubtedly going wide with the sight. Marshal Sam Collins was last, walking in and motioning for the door to close behind her with her Apple Corps iTool, pulling a small hover cart with groceries and essentials that she had gotten from a nearby grocery store, not wanting to have bare cupboards and refrigeration unit. The rentable conveyance slowly lowered to the floor as she turned off its electrodynaglide micro-repulsors so it wouldn't accidentally be knocked about as she turned to look at her apartment.

'Apartment' was a relative term; what she lived in was damn near palatal.

 _Centurion Magnus_ Nihlus Kryik and Strike Huntress Tela Vasir hadn't been very forthcoming with details about looking for a place for her during her time on Therum, only indicating that they had found a place for her, and had gone through the trouble of having it furnished. He had warned that a _Maiden_ had done so, though Sam had no idea what to expect before. Guessing that Nihlus was Turian, was probably looking more towards how a _Turian_ would furnish a _nest_ than what a human would use in their _home_.

The apartment had been furnished fully. And tastefully so.

Yes, the apartment was huge (much too large, considering Sam had literally never owned a place of her own before), but Tela Vasir had filled the spaces with furniture, decorations, and additions that gave it a sense of livable serenity to it. The Marshal didn't know if the Asari understood _Feng Shui_ , but one look around showed that someone had put a good deal of work and attention to the arrangements and details of the apartment. Never mind that she could literally host an amateur Earth Urban Competitive Combat League game in her living room with room for spectators, Tela had either figured out a way to use the space artfully, or had found someone who could do it for her.

At first, one might accidentally confuse the apartment for a small-scale botanical garden, a wide variety of plants of a variety of species and nativetology existing along the walls, raised on small, seat-able islands amongst the floor space, upon planters on shelves and even decorating the sills of windows. A wide array of tintable flexglass dominated one wall where Sam could get a view of not only the Mid-Wards heading towards the main boulevard, but also the artificial sky of the Citadel itself. Looking out the window would show her the Public Transportation X3M Contragravity Aircars in flight, as well as a variety of advertisements and light boards showing a variety of products as the adverts shifted and changed. Furniture was wood-based with cushions adhered to their designated locations, arranged in the lowered living room where a large coffee table dominated the space, and seats had been arranged around it, much like a conference area that was attuned towards comfort and relaxation. A holovision monitored was connected to a nearby wall, a large screen Panasonic SmartVision 5K UHD model that Sam didn't doubt was very expensive, along with (of all things) a connected gaming console that was thankfully of human make, a Microsoft X-Box Millennia ported to the HV. Scott was already drooling at the sight of the HV and X-Box, and with a nod from Ellen, she turned on the appliances from a wall station nearby, cleverly disguised along with the wood paneling wall that looked reminiscence of Japanese architecture, bamboo and strips of wood instead of wall paint.

Where as the living room had a very horticultural and contemporary feel to it, the kitchen was something else; very ultramodern. Sam had no idea what Tela was thinking when she either had installed (or likely, the apartment came with) what appeared to be _very_ modern kitchen appliances, from an Asari-based refrigeration unit that literally kept track of amounts of products and expiration dates, to alerting her that she would need particular items when shopping and sending the alerts to her iTool, to a cooking apparatus that was suppose to be like a stove or an inductive microwave unit, but was shaped more like a slot that could cook food evenly at a variety of ranges, maxing out at 500 degrees Celsius. The countertops were of some grey-colored marble that must have been imported from somewhere (Sam suspected Thessia), and the cupboards and cabinets were of a pale wood that, by the hardened speckling contained in its grain, she figured might be from Palaven, considering the high-gain radiation having life evolve there for radiation-resistance and protection. There was a self-cleaning floor drone that would literally clean the kitchen for her, and the sink doubled as a dishwasher, closing off and entering an autoclave function that would blast the dishes with superheated water and mild microwaves for disinfection purposes. Sam had been impressed that the faucet's hot water activation handle produced hot water _immediately_ and the temperature select option could be spoken so she wouldn't accidentally scald herself. Hell, the cold-water function delivered near-freezing water, too, at exactly one degree Celsius.

"I feel like I just walked into one of those remodeling ENetFlix shows after-the-fact." Ellen said slowly, her eyes still sweeping over everything as Sam felt pretty bad about inventing them in. Alec was a Captain in the Systems Alliance Navy, and Ellen was a researcher with Aldrin Labs, working their R+D Department. Even with Credits they both brought in, they probably couldn't afford something like this. Nihlus and Tela had gone all out, and Sam had already read the datapad that came with the apartment that explained the functionality of the apartment (to include its high-processing VI suite), as well as the message that Nihlus had left for her, explaining that the apartment was in her name, and leased to her for the next four years, paid for by a shell corporation that covered living expenses for SPECTREs. While she technically wasn't one yet, the fact that it had been approved had been telling. "My God, is there a _waterfall_ in your apartment?"

"Yeah." Collins looked to the wall in question that served as the dining room, where one wall had indeed been converted into an auto-waterfall, complete with riverstones as its physical wall and a pool with actual small fish (she didn't recognize the species) living in it, the expense and luxury of it mind-boggling. She didn't even want to know how much a place like this went for per month. Probably more than the failed restaurant that she had looked at earlier. The dining room was in a class of its own, rather opulent with a grand dining table that seated ten(!) with classical-oriented furniture and a small chandelier hanging above the table with flickering lights that looked quite candle-like. Every part of the apartment was that way, a degree of either refinement or expense that had Sam's mind spinning. This was how the _Asari_ lived? No wonder they were the first-among-equals in the galaxy! Sam didn't think _every_ SPECTRE lived this way, but she wondered if the field agents had something similar to this, while the support and services staff had something was better than their kin, though nothing this fanciful. "You think this is something? You should see my bedroom. It's… unique." Alec was doing his best not to laugh, covering his mouth. His wife merely gave him a look that had him swallowing it. "An Asari Maiden decorated all this, so the bedroom… is geared towards a single Asari Maiden and all that it entails."

"Oh." The Doctor replied at first, her face blanking for a moment as she did her best not to show whatever she was feeling. " _Oh…_ " The chuckle began in her belly and soon Ellen Ryder was laughing out loud in a good-natured manner, unable to hold back. "Brass poles?" She asked, referring to dancing poles that were common in gentlemen's clubs and other places of ill repute.

"No, but I think that might be the only thing left out, along with the dancing cages." Collins said, Alec too busy chuckling, his whole body shaking. He had already seen the monstrosity that was her bedroom, having to walk away quickly before laughing fully in her face when he had. Sam had just stared at it for a minute before figuratively 'slamming' the pneumatic door shut and doing her best to forget ever having seen it. She was rather glad Kryik had warned her, but no level of warning save pics and stills could have prepared her for what she had discovered. Seriously, who got a bed that was shaped like… _that_? Evidently, Asari and humans shared a good deal of anatomical similarities in that particular region of the body. Meldnest, indeed. If anyone else looked at it, they would arrest Sam for suspected sex crimes and mild torture. Who the hell installed a suspension rack in a bedroom, anyhow? She wasn't exactly sure what it was for, and she was definitely certain that she _didn't_ want to know. There was a strange-looking couch that she only assumed was a melding couch, looking more like a very cushioned chaise lounge chair or couch that one might find in a Psychologists' Office, though Sam had quickly figured what the sanguine-colored piece of furniture was for. Sam went ahead and let the Doctor look at her expense as Sam decided to see how the kids were doing, completely immersed in some X-Box game that was evidently already pre-loaded into the gaming console, a third-person shooter video game about travelers discovering and exploring a new galaxy, fighting off non-Galaxy Way aliens. That had Sam snort as she watched Scott (playing a human soldier) running around with a shotgun while Sara (playing an Asari scientist) used her Biokinetics. The twins were completely immersed, and Alec watched the game as well, shaking his head. A minute or two later, Ellen came back with the largest grin Sam had ever seen on her face, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, that bedroom is something, alright." The Doctor said, shaking her head. "And whoever designed that bed? That only leaves one impression."

"Ugh! Terrible." Sam shook her head as well, ready to give Tela a rather scathing message later on. "The guest rooms are pretty normal, if a little gilded. But that… I'm going to _kill_ Tela for that."

"Pity you don't have a boyfriend. You could have some rather interesting times with that." Ellen's eyes sparkled, making Sam's mouth drop. "You should have seen the room we rented on our honeymoon. A little more tame than that, but it _was_ the Honeymoon Suite."

"Yeah, that's all I need; to give a Navy MP even more ideas. Jane's incorrigible as is." Collins replied, making Ellen's eyebrows rise at the comment.

* * *

Author's Note: I use a lot of current pop culture and 'futurize' it. CitadelSingles is actually borrowed from Mytel's _The Spirit Of Redeption_ , but ManyFishInTheSea is warped from the PlentyOfFish dating app. ENetFlix should be obvious. Lightboards are either holographic billboards, or a drawing/writing electronic pad. And I'm not 100% certain if I got the definition of 'Catfish' correct, borrowed from the show of the same name about people misrepresenting themselves on dates with pics and allegations.

I wanted to delve a little bit into Sam's past because it will come up later. Having Pallin knowing the other side of the story (the Turian side) wasn't some gaff picking a canon character. I picked him specifically for a reason; a by-the-books Turian who somehow ends up rescuing a human child. This won't show up for a while, but it ties in.

While I could have made the Spaceport more futuristic, it still has an infestation of Starbucks. They are fucking everywhere. And I live in Seattle. They're fucking everywhere _twice_.

Captain Alec Ryder: Somehow, mine ended up looking like half-Cro Magnon, with a thick brow, broad flat nose, and thick lips. Still, making him the Pathfinder anyhow (he was on the first ship out, after all, and _someone_ had to walk on those planets, right?) makes sense. And he wore a motorcycle-styled jacket in Andromeda, which I might make mention why. The Ryder family is to show him as a family man, and I wasn't impressed with Ryder Sr.'s demeanor. This was a guy who defied Council law and threw away his career for his wife; that sounds like deep devotion to me. To have his kids say that he 'wasn't there' seemed… pale. His middle name, Clancy, comes from his voice actor, Clancy Brown.

SOCOM Eagle Mk. VII - The is the N7 Eagle, which I more identified with the SOCOM Mk.23, a .45 caliber pistol with threaded barrel for a silencer, integral laser sight, and selector to keep the slide from activating with a round fired. The Mk.23 is an actual Real-Life Weapon, and can be found in the Metal Gear Solid series, used by both Solid Snake and Raiden. The Mk. VII is a machine pistol, like it is in ME3MP and Andromeda.

Silver Medal and Minute Rice - I written a blurb or two on possible Andromeda FF's, and these were the nicknames I came up with for the twins Scott and Sara. Scott's 'Silver Medal' for coming second in the race, and Sara's 'Minute Rice' for the length of time she was born first; long enough to make minute rice. Twins are like that.

Alec is a FCW Vet, as Sam is an orphan of the same conflict. Considering how big a deal the FCW was with next to no information about it, I got to paint a little bit about it. Most of what is known are tidbits and comments, pictures from the comic book Mass Effect: Evolution, and a rather short blurb from the Codex. I assume, as a lush Garden World, Shanxi would have been quickly colonized, with a population even into the millions in 8 years. When the Turians first attack, I imagine an overwhelming response (like America's response to both Pearl Harbor and September 11th). But first contact with an enemy is always the worst and the bloodiest. See the Battle of Dunkirk for an idea.

Venari Pallin - C-SEC Executor in Mass Effect. Said to be a 30-year member of C-SEC in 2183, but sometimes we… round things to impress people. There is no hard data suggesting that Pallin actually joined C-SEC directly in 2153, and a four-year difference over such a long period of time can be glossed over. So Pallin (like many others, such as Ambassador Orinio of the Turian Embassy) is a Relay 314 Vet in this story.

The Ryders are canonically twenty-two in 2185/2819. As this is a decade prior, they are twelve. And a double-handful.

Soy Protein Extract, Beef-Flavored - Yep, sounds like some Godawful shit. Like the crap the military fed us (Army, not the Air Force rats. Jimmy Deans came with _soda_. We had… powder. And a piece of bread hard enough to throw like a ninja star and kill a man).

I couldn't find when the first Implant and Amp were created (the L1 and whatever the Amp was, probably a Conatix) but I know that BAaT School began in 2160 by Conatix Industries on Gagarin Station.

Inverter Microwave - Microwaves heat food by 'agitating' polarization in molecules, exciting them into heating the food. Unfortunately, the transformer that does this does so in a cycle, going from 100% power to 0% power and back again. An Inverter sends steady power (50% is 50% the whole time) that heats evenly and in a shorter period of time, as well as no 'cold spots'. This is commonly accepted as the 'next-step' in microwaves, and I didn't want to create the Star Trek Replicator for FutureTek. The whole meal coming pre-packaged makes sense, since I didn't see too many dairy farms on the Citadel the last time I visited :)

Haliat Industries 2176 Cipritine Ghost Contragravity Sports Flyer - This is a joke I made on myself; in Mass Effect vs. Aliens: The Siege Of Hadley's Hope, this is the very model that Tela Vasir 'borrows' from the Hesperiidae Hotel with 2nd Lieutenant Jane Shepard to chase down Carter Burke after an assault on the 343 Mobile Infantry and Team Dingo. Don't know what I'm talking about? Go read this TOP 5! story in the Mass Effect/Aliens Crossover folder! (Yes, I pulled an EA and advertised myself)

Muzak - Mostly associated with elevator music, though the Muzak Industries that dominated the 'easy listening' genre for decades didn't actually sell to elevators. Huh.

The Police Station - I looked up blueprints and resources off the internet on the idea of a police station, and it is amazing to think what is put into a police station. Even a small one boasts holding cells for both genders, bathrooms, conference rooms, locker rooms, and even small gyms. This isn't even including maintenance bays and parking for squad cars! Sam's failure to find a suitable Office was to highlight this, as most police stations are either built with the town, or are zoned out and built from the ground up.

McMenamins - A real-life family-owned craft brewery business/restaurant in the Pacific Northwest. Love their Terminator Stout.

GUI - Graphical User Interface, a nice and pretty term that equals… WINDOWS! Seriously, who of us are old enough to remember DOS? Command-Line Interface, typing everything in with that cute *C:help!* command? Programming still relies heavily on CLI, be it source code, web page, and even *gasp* video game development. If I had to work on a computer that was as old as I am (era 1982) I'd probably die of embarrassment and head-scratching. Does this mean Tali has a HackApp? Hmm…

Parity-Time Symmetry Inductive Charging Station - Wireless charging pad that can charge up to a meter away from the station. This is literally cutting-edge technology IRL, being studied and R+D'ed in Stanford U. as we speak by Shanhui Fan and team. We're still working on it, as so far we can get a LED light bulb powered without connection, so… a few Watts at best. Still… we're getting there! (Crack that EV Air Charge!) Quantum Mechanics rock!

Hand-to-Screen Detection - What Virtual Reality does when you wear gloves, but without the gloves or that big clunky thing on your face.

Eye-Sync - I've read about a few prototypes where when you look at an 'object' on your screen, it puts it up front and minimizes the others, letting someone work efficiently without using a mouse or touch-screen. Imagine typing, looking at where you need to go… and the cursor goes to it. SCIENCE!

UltraFire's 8000LM CREE XML T6 LED Flashlight - A Real-Life Flashlight, 8,000 luminous (candlepower). This is something you can use to light up just about everything within a quarter-mile, easily, blinding people. Which is why they tried making superlum flashlights illegal last year.

Collins' Apartment - more of a light-infused, airy version of Shepard's Apartment in Tiberius Tower.

Panasonic SmartVision 5K UHD - I WANT ONE! And the hoverboard I was promised by Michael J. Fox. Get it on, science!

Microsoft X-Box Millennia - Gaming Consoles still exist in the future. We all can't have Steam Accounts, after all.

The video game I describe is Mass Effect: Andromeda. Scott is seriously playing himself, while Sara has Peebee.

Meldnest - Asari can be into some kinky freaky shit. And the bed is indeed shaped like _that_. And a suspension rack is for suspending oneself, for those who like… dangling from chains for some reason. I don't get it. (Kudara, you _asked_.)


	3. Human Lives Matter, II

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM! You know who THEM are! FrostBioEAWareBite…_

 **Marshal's Office, 1100 Block, Human Wards, Zakera Arm, The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula, June 12 2175**

Author's Note: So a shout out and some credit to the high-tech and highly technical story by DigitalHelix; Mass Effect: All In The Details. I read through his story for some ideas on NextCen Tech, looking for ideas since Mass Effect went from having hundreds of weapons and dozens of upgrades… to scanning Platinum for Dr. Chakwas to make you pretty. Seriously, you go from an easy dozen assault rifles to choose from, to like… two/three, depending on class. ME3 got better, but I missed the idea of weapons manufacturing and companies.

Ok, rant over. Just read All In The Details if you want a high-tech story with a thousand acronyms to plow through.

* * *

Alliance Federal Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins stood in the completed room of her own personal office.

It was getting to be near evening when Sam was able to sit down in the executive-styled pleather chair that was championed by the desk that was in front of it, a thermoplastic acrylic-polyvinyl chloride piece of office furniture that had the look of lacquered wood upon it. Her monitor rested on top of her desk, an older OLED (Organic Light Emitting Diode) Display Unit that could be compacted by compressing the activation units together and the flexible silicon thin-film transistor screen would automatically roll up into one of the posts for storage and safe-keeping. The monitor and its tetraHertz-processing CPU were already installed and linked to each other through an inductive field, needing no wires or physical connection for information transfer. A Haptic Display Unit was connected to the OLED screen for typing and mouse-work gesture recognition, and for the most part Sam was pleased with the set-up. It wasn't top-of-the-line or state-if-the-art equipment; everything was a few years old or more, and she had gotten them, first time owner, at a good deal, as well as the rest of the terminals that future Deputies would be working on. It wasn't like she would be throwing high-level processes or burning through the ExtraNet to stream ImmersVids. The Analyst/Forensics Lab would need something with a higher magnitude of computing abilities, perhaps a Q-Machine or a SuperCray to process the multiple fields of information that would come in from a crime; fingerprints, oil residues, DNA, RNA, scent identifiers, and Personal Area Networks on the electromagnetic spectrum. The next big ticket item would be the BlockChain Server for the Records Room, which would be an investment in her next monthly budget, and linking it to an internal CyberLink System, much like the one that the Citadel ran, Automated Virtual Intelligence Network Assistant, or AVINA for short. Since she had yet to get any encryption software from the Systems Alliance, Collins was going to play it safe and keep her systems Stand Alone Complex for the time being.

General Contractor Robert Hawthorne had his men working in the squad room and lobby, the six men whom he had brought on working inside what was once an electronic supply store and tech-firm venture not under any other impression of whom they were working for. It had come to light the previous day when Mister Hawthone had arrived earlier than scheduled to scope the place out, finding both herself and Captain Alec Clancy Ryder (N7, SAN) already there. They had talked together for a few moments when the first of the deliveries had arrived, the young man working for AllEx with the first of several shipments onto of a hoverskid. Sam hadn't thought of it when she signed her name, Robert and Alec passing small talk when the contractor's eye caught her digital signature.

" _Um…" The older man scratched at the back of his head, looking a little embarrassed as the young man dropped off the boxes that looked to be the office furniture ready to be assembled. "You wouldn't happen to be_ that _Sam Collins, would you? Marshal of Therum? The Peacemaker?" Robert Hawthorne was the typical blue-collared worker; tall, slightly athletic with a paunch, hands well worn from work, and a conservative attitude. No doubt he went home to the wife and kids and turned on the news to catch up one whatever the latest was._

" _Yes, yes I am." Sam replied, looking to the N-Level Sailor, who merely shrugged, as if to say 'what can you do about it?' The addition of 'the Peacemaker' had been rounding the news when reports from Therum indicated just how many Batarians she had killed, separated by categories like a game show. She wasn't the type to put notches on her gun, but the amount of public approval she was receiving from all sectors in Earth Alliance Space was pretty telling; she was the hero of the hour. She guessed she rated a superhero name. "And you are building my office."_

" _GodDAMN!" The man looked at her for a moment as if she sprouted two heads, then looked at Alec, and then back at her. "Waitaminute… this is to be a_ Marshal's _Office? In the Cit?" Robert's eyes got wide with that, real wide. He was nobody's fool, evidently. "You're going to be iceskatin' uphill for some time, Marse."_

" _I know." Sam sighed, rubbing the back of her head, trying to imagine just where to start. Until she had a few Deputies under her authority, she was literally the proverbial lone gunslinger. Alec would be good for back-up, and the inclusion of Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino, Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason, and Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard would help to some degree, but they were Navy MP's; despite how good they were, it wasn't quite the same for the time being. The Navy Non-Coms knew that they were going to be meat and muscle for the get-go until she could establish some presence and authority in the Human Wards, and she certainly couldn't muscle into Citadel Security Services' piece of the action with just a few SAMP's. She needed cops and investigators, some service records and some credibility. Her name might give people pause or herself the benefit of the doubt, but if she were going to be able to do her job, then she needed the necessary parts. And that consisted of lawmen. "No one promised this gig would be easy. Hell, last time someone established a permanent lawful presence on foreign soil, outnumbered and on all sides was… probably Julius Caesar in Britannia. Maybe the Conquistadors." Even then, those souls had the technological advantage, where as she didn't. In fact, she was on the losing side of that battle, too._

 _No, it certainly wasn't an easy gig, and anyone who thought this would be a feather in their cap would be quickly crushed by the task. This wasn't about glory or making a name for oneself; there were people here who expected to be protected, who expected to live their lives as they saw fit (in a reasonable manner, of course) day in and day out, with little outside influence. Iceskating uphill was certainly an apt euphemism._

Robert Hawthorne had gone straight to work for the Marshal's Office, now knowing whom and what he was working for. While he didn't tell the workers under him just who she was, he indicated that the 'client' was a friend of his, and to make sure that everything was done right and proper, even going so far as to double-checking everything twice to make sure that connections and materials were in their proper places and locations, that everything was constructed to their proper form. Not that Collins doubted the man's work or ethics, but she had a sense of understanding that this was this man's way of supporting her and her cause; he was helping those who helped others. The Marshal understood that she had gained a bit of an ally due to her reputation, and that was okay for the time being. But the only way she was going to be able to make the Marshal's Office work was by keeping that reputation as strong and as sterling as possible, to find other people in the Human Wards, to gain their trust and confidence.

Sam knew that there were some political parties in the Wards, and she would undoubtedly be dealing with them sooner or later; necessary evils of the job. Yet without the support of someone in office (if there actually was one), she could come under political and public fire just as easily. There were manuals on such things, and as dry a read as they had been, it had given Sam an insight that her position as Marshal was more than just being the 'top cop' in a region, like she had been in Therum. Had she not garnered the cooperation of the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation, at least its Chief of Operations Edward Dukakis, as well as Therum Governor Adam Benson? That had been for the very same reason; to give her the opportunity to do her job without fending off the wolves. Political leaders, religious leaders, firebrands… they all amounted to the same thing, and she would have to entertain these people much in the same manner and reason that politicians did; she needed the support of the people and those in power. While they couldn't 'kick' her out of office, they could prove difficult and hamper her efforts if she didn't garner some goodwill and cooperation with them.

Politics… ugh! She wished she could do without, but she could not, unfortunately.

"How's the new office, Marse?"

Collins looked up to see Captain Alec Ryder standing in the frame of her door, leaning on it as he folded his arms across his chest, checking up on her. Alec had been a big help so far for her, answering the one hundred and one questions she had about the Citadel, the Human Wards, and everything pertained to what she did. He was a wealth of knowledge and experience, and she wasn't letting it go to waste.

"Sufficient, but… it's a little lonely here." The Marshal admitted to the Pathfinder, the N-Level Sailor understanding what she meant. She was a Commanding Officer without anyone to command, essentially, and every day that passed without anything resembling a police force was crime being unanswered, justice not being served, and a deteriorating situation sinking lower. Sam had looked up the Citadel Crime Index in the Human Wards on the Citadel Public Servers, and found the reported crimes, emergency calls, responder reports, and witness accounts of the Crime Statistics that existed from the 0800 Block to the 1400 Block, dealing with each Level and Section, listing not only the amount, but the category as well.

The numbers had been _very_ disheartening.

In the past month, there had been eight hundred and sixty-four incidences involving the Human Wards, the C-SEC Precincts of each individual Block reporting in the incidences, and the numbers being passed up. Collins had looked up the Crime Index relating to the Human Wards, and the numbers had made her wince; eight hundred and sixty-four incidences in a thirty-day period; just over twenty-eight incidences a day. With just C-SEC handling the responses, she could see why the Turian Officers seemed to be in force with a crime rate like that; that was about the same as a major city! The statistic came with demographics, and Sam felt her heart plummet at the sight of the numbers. There had been two murders in the past month, along with sixteen counts of rape, one hundred and thirty-eight robberies, one hundred and eighty-six felony assaults, eighty-two burglaries, four hundred and eleven-counts of larceny, and twenty-nine counts of grand larceny. There was a secondary list of 'incidences' that did not match the major crimes, giving its own list for the past thirty days. Eighteen arrests for 'transients' had been made, while sixty-four calls of 'housing (domestic violence)' were answered. Three hundred and ninety-seven calls of misdemeanor assault had been issued, while eight hundred and seventy-nine counts of petty larceny were accumulated. Misdemeanor sex crimes netted thirty-eight, while thirteen illegal weapons charges had been recorded.

Fourteen hundred and nine minor crimes in a month on top of eight hundred and sixty-four major crimes. Two-thousand, two hundred and seventy-three crimes in a month.

Just how the hell was she suppose to do this?

Sam had showed Ryder the statistic, and he had been a little intimidated by the numbers, too. It was one thing to think it, but something completely different to see it spelled out for you right before your very eyes. The Marshal also explained to him that while the number seemed high, when factored in with the total population of the Wards itself, it still brought the statistical probability of running into a criminal of some kind as less than one percent, and half of _those_ odds being a minor infraction. It still didn't sit well with either one of them, but seeing the numbers showed them just how daunting their task was going to be; sheer numbers were going to drown them. She would need something in the magnitude of two thousand Deputies if she wished to reach just the minimum ratio of civilian-to-Officer of one thousand to one. Hell, that was a statistic of an area for light metropolitan cities with suburban and rural areas. Collins was stationed in what would be considered a pure urban landscape, thus the ratio would be more like six hundred to one. That would literally take her years to hire that many people if she waited for every class of the Marshal's Academy to graduate and hired them all _en masse_ without leaving any left for the rest of the Frontier Marshals' Offices, each class graduating anywhere from sixty to a hundred twice a year. No, she was going to have to look outside for such hires, such as other law enforcement agencies, military agencies (like the Military Police or even the Office of Naval Intelligence), and even investigative services, private or public. Then there was the riffraff; private security sectors. The thought had her wincing at the fact that she might have to bite the bullet and look into what she considered pale imitations and wannabe's if she wanted numbers. The fact that she was even considered looking into the 'Observe-and-Report'-styled Security Officers that one could find in shopping malls or the more Corporate-oriented 'Service Officers' was a bit of a blow to her pride, but she needed numbers.

Ugh.

Marshal Sam Collins perused the ExtraNet for ideas on how to do so, looking through the many want ads on various EN-sites in the 'for hire' lists throughout Alliance Space, wincing at some of the needs throughout Human Space. It seemed that there was no shortages of security jobs, and going into the EarthGov and SAGov sites and looking at the potential hirings of actual Officers of the Law (what she had used herself) had her dismayed to see that _everyone_ was hiring; everything from the basic bread-and-butter Patrolman to higher-ranking Supervisors and Detectives. What she was really doing was looking at the competition, and figuring out how to one-up them; if she wanted quality and numbers, she was going to have to entice and coerce people in her direction. Being on the Citadel was certainly a perk she could throw out there, but the Citadel was expensive; she had looked up what a basic apartment cost and the cost-of-living statistic based on the Human Wards and flinched. Space was premium throughout the Citadel, and the Human Wards were already supposedly overcapacity, so available locations were obviously inflated. Add to the fact that supplies (especially food) were imported in… the Citadel was expensive. Throwing out a higher starting pay would certainly get her some attention, especially if basic hires didn't realize that it was really adjusted for COLA (Cost of Living Allowance). But then she'd also have to realize that some if not many of her hires might have families; spouses and children, possibly parents to care for. It was daunting to think, and something she hadn't had to consider during her time in Therum. There? She had a Naval Security Team that was gifted to her for free, with free housing and their own compound. Now? All bets were off, and Sam was actually going to have to work something out that would involving the men and women who would be under her authority.

Iceskating uphill? Sisyphus would know her plight well.

The Marshal had already put together several ads through well-known hiring sites on the ExtraNet towards human hires on the need for Officers of the Law on the Citadel, not wanting to exactly advertise that it would be for a Marshal's Office in the Human Wards. Sooner or later, C-SEC would know that she was doing just this, and she didn't doubt there would be some repercussions and ramifications (probably more politically-oriented, but there might be altercations, too). Both the EarthGovJob site and the SAGovJob site got requests, and the big five of hiring sites; CareerBuilder, Monster, ZipRecruiter, LinkdIn, and seriously… the Wall Street Journal. She even perused the 'Want' ads of several sites, looking for people that were looking for jobs, though the search criteria came up dismal when she looked for anyone with law enforcement experience and even private security with supervisory experience. She took the five she thought looked the most hopeful and fired a message off while she worked on looking through other ExtraNet domains in Earth Space for potentials, looking at the colonies, the outposts, colleges and universities, and even the tech schools for potential leads. Collins kept a small program to indicate whom she sent messages to, which sites she had posted upon, and ideas she had come across, working off of two different screens on her OLED monitor while typing away on two different Haptic User Interface keyboards, her mind working beyond what a normal human could do, but well within her own comfort level.

By the end of the day, she had about a dozen hits. Surprisingly.

Ryder watched on as Marshal Sam Collins looked through the databases of each of the people who had returned her messages, indicating that they were interested. Four lived on the Citadel itself, which was nice. The rest were scattered through Earth Space, and those interviews were going to have to be done over Skype unless she wanted to pay for flights for them to be interviewed. She scheduled the first round of personal interviews for that Friday, the day after Stacy, Royce and Jane came in on their flight. By that time, she would have most of the Office up-and-running (or at least ready to up-and-run) so an interviewee wouldn't be looking at a construction site, but a job that was ready to go. The Skype interviews she could do now and the next couple of days depending on the time differences, as her personal office was more-or-less complete and the camera would only be showing her and whatever was immediately behind her; a wall for the most part. Sam looked at the time marquee on her wall (CitTime, ArcTime, and GMT were all displayed) and sent replies to the Skype interviews for the next day, calculating times in which would fit both of their schedules for tomorrow and the next day. Each message was given details one what she expected to see (resume and references) and what she expected out of them (professionalism and experience in their field). She fired off her last message and shut down her terminal, looking to Alec with a smile; she was finally getting progress done, and it did feel good.

"Ready to get your swoll on?" Alec's responsibilities, given the nature of his work at the Embassy's Diplomatic Security Services, had been to incorporate a field manual for new Deputies working on the Citadel, listing situations and scenarios that he and other field agents had come across, as well as giving a list of legal loopholes and how-to tips on dealing with the various agencies on the Citadel itself. While Ryder wasn't an Officer of the Law, his knowledge would probably pay in spades for those who had never been to the Citadel (such as herself) and would even be educational for those who did live there and didn't know the myriad of details pertaining to what C-SEC could or couldn't do, and how the Citadel Government was orchestrated.

His other job was to prepare _her_.

"This might constitute torture in certain jurisdictions, Pathfinder." Sam smiled as she stood from her desk, knowing that Alec Ryder was going to kick her ass (figuratively). Captain Alec Ryder (N7, SAN) was a warrior and an Asset Protection Officer; he was a bodyguard with the added job of preemptive strikes and preparation against those who might harm anyone in the Human Embassies. He had learned how to deal with all the races, and after thirteen years on the job, it was safe to say that there probably wasn't a _realistic_ scenario that he hadn't seen, dealt with, or discussed with. His first imparting lesson? Meat.

He was kicking her ass with a gym.

Together they left the Marshal's Office to visit a gym that Alec had held a membership with since about his first year on the Citadel, coaxing other members of the DSS to join in to get something started to not only keep their bodies athletic, but to maintain and improve their skills as combatants. It was a private gym that wasn't giving out memberships for 'weekend workout warriors' or people who were thinking to lose a few pounds by holding a membership card. No, this gym only gave memberships by referral from members, and were actually voted upon by the members for approval. Sam had never seen or heard of a 'members-only' gym, but she realistically understood that they must exist; boxing gyms, martial arts training dojos, or the kind of gyms where men were interested in the numbers given by a cloth tape measure to impress other equally-huge testosterone-and-steroid driven iron-pumpers. This was one of 'those' gyms, and Alec had referred her to it the second day on the Citadel, and she had been approved later on that day, the members clued in on both her identity as well as her job title. The gym was filled with DSS members, and sprinkled with transient SpecOps Warriors, military hand-to-hand specialists, and traveling professional athletes. The membership was under a hundred with more than half 'traveling' members who had a location on the Citadel if they were ever there. She had gone there for the first time yesterday and found a gym that had the look of an old-school boxer's gym, complete with both a ring and an octagon for martial arts training in a variety of flavors. There were heavy bags and speed bags, jump ropes and treadmills. There was also a full compliment of weight machines, barbells, bars, benches, and exercise equipment designed to train and workout practically any muscle group one desired. The gym was a temple towards physical self-improvement, and its clientele dutiful worshippers.

This wasn't a gym for the weak or for the rare visit.

Sam and Alec arrived near the end of the workday, as the gym was the host of only a few members that the Marshal recognized from yesterday, but hadn't quite learned everyone's name yet. She already had her own locker in which workout gear had been put inside, purchased by her when she realized that she hadn't possessed the necessaries she needed. She was use to her own regimen; a series of bodyweight exercises that had her doing push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, crunches, squats, lunges, jumping jacks, and burpees. The regimen was one that she had learned in UShanxi (New Bei), watching gymnasts and cheerleaders using the exercise to stay fit, agile, and possess lean muscle mass. Alec had critiqued her workout session yesterday, evaluating it and gave her sound advice; it was perfect for gymnasts and cheerleaders, in which she was neither. It had been a series of core-body exercises that he praised that would give her flexibility, stamina, and 'everyday' strength, as he called it. But what Sam needed, Ryder explained, was strength, endurance, and the ability to tangle with absolutely _anything_ that came her way, from some two-Credit Sander junkie to a professional warrior such as himself, stating that 'a cop coming out in second place in a fight is a dead cop'. Sam accepted the blow to her pride and had listened to Alec as he gave her a new workout regimen that would certainly push her to her paces; three different types of push-ups involving arm positions and another three sets of body degree elevations, various plank positions, several different forms of sit-ups and crunches with different leg elevations and arm positions, three different type of pull-ups, and a series of exercises one could do on a pull-up bar, an extended twelve-count burpee, a series of jumping exercises involving a box, and a whole list of workouts involving resistance bands. And those were just the bodyweight ones!

Then there was the punching bag.

"At the end of the day," the N-Level Sailor spoke to her after her hour-long session of doing her new regimen of exercises, covered in sweat and drinking a sports drink slowly from a sports bottle, "you are the ultimate weapon in everything; your body, your mind, your spirit, your determination. When all else fails, you need to fall back upon yourself. Friends may be busy somewhere else, your gun may jam, your armor may be broken into a hundred pieces. Bullets and enemies will not give you reprieve, and life just loves shitting on you when you are on your last legs. The best recipe for success is to give yourself as many tools and options as possible when that day comes, so that you have not only the will to survive and overcome, but the ability to do so as well." The Pathfinder looked at the punching bag. "Look at that bag hanging there; defenseless, without the means to defend itself. It is the perfect target.

"One minute. Begin."

Sam assaulted the bag with the mentality of a stoic fighter; a series of measured punches and strikes meant to harass and disable an opponent. A jab led to a cross, that led towards a forward elbow strike, followed with a rear knee strike to the flank. She then followed it with a gut punch, a blade strike to the upper portion, a twisting uppercut, and then another high cross. Her strikes were timed and methodical, precision and speed that against an opponent, would leave them defending and disoriented from the strikes coming from the left, right, high and low. She never used the same combo twice, and used her knees as much as her hands and elbows. A double elbow strike led towards a forward knee strike that turned into an upper hook punch that turned into a right hook. A jab turned into a hammer fist turned into a nerve strike to the neck area. A shin kick towards the knee area turned into the opposite leg going for a flanking kick that turned into a left cross. Sam switched sides and stances, flowing from one strike to another without pause or hesitation, the bag's chains jangling with every hit, the bag's form rocking and quaking with her strikes. When Ryder called 'time', Sam stopped, feeling utterly exhausted from the session, lifting her arms over her head to catch her breath quicker as her lungs burned for the need of oxygen as her arms felt like jello and her hands felt like bricks.

"That… was good." Alec allowed. "But no fury, no survival instinct. You fight like a martial artist in a dojo, not like a brawler in a life-or-death situation."

"I have defeated men in hand-to-hand before." Collins pointed out. "I killed a Pillars-Priest with MCMAP."

"Which is impressive, but the Priest was disabled at the time, was he not?" The N7 asked, and Sam grunted in acknowledgement. "You used your brains to gain the advantage, and then you took advantage of the situation, which is good. But I guarantee that if he had been awake and cognitive, it would have gone a lot longer, and likely a lot worse. You can't always expect a rash decision to work well. You wouldn't have beaten a Turian that way. You were lucky that Batarians and humans are configured pretty similarly physiology-wise that choking one out is possible. You aren't choking out a Turian or a Krogan. Now…" the man took a deep breath, "for the next minute, you will defend that bag.

"From me."

Sam's eyes went wide, and understood what Alec was doing, and surprised him by launching herself on the offensive with a back kick towards the solar plea region, intending to drive his air out. She was tired, sweaty, and had just beaten up a bag for a minute, but now the roles had reversed; that bag might be someone important one day, someone she would have to protect; the perfect target. Alec's surprise was quickly swept away as he slapped her driving foot away, knocking her slightly off-balanced as she landed to his right, his forearm sweeping in a quick clothesline meant to knock her down quickly. She raised a hand in defense and ducked the arm, letting it slip overhead as she continued to hold the arm, slipping her hand to his wrist and letting the momentum give her the ability to pull it down and then backwards into a rear arm lock; a classic Greco-Roman wrestling maneuver.

Ryder grunted and tensed up as his arm was contorted behind him, his right hand angled towards his right shoulder blade when he simply thrusted his right hip into her, sliding his right foot in between her own as he dipped forward, throwing his bodyweight front and down as Sam felt herself being vaulted onto his back as she felt his left hand grab her by the scruff of her neck and throw her in front of him onto the ground with a slam, landing on her back. An explosive cough escaped her as she opened her eyes to see a foot raising up into a smash, and she rolled to one side to avoid it, seeing the leg staying in position for a second. She swept her right arm in a reverse arc from hip to shoulder, striking the natural bend behind the knee and made the N7 lose his footing as he too fell down, falling to the ground in front of her feet.

His left leg was still within range as Sam immediately grappled it, going for a leg lock as she grabbed his foot, wrapped her right leg around it, and proceeded to sit on his thigh and started cranking his foot upward while immobilizing his leg; a breaking maneuver if enough pressure was applied. She intend to have him tap out, and was shocked when his right leg came up and over her head, his thigh striking her in the face and toppling her back onto the ground, landing her on her back once more as she lost her grip on his foot. Alec's response was fast as he took quick advantage for positional superiority by grabbing her hair and lifting her head up as he folded his leg; his thigh at the front of her neck, and his calf at the back.

He squeezed.

Sam felt her oxygen and blood supply cut off immediately as panic and adrenaline exploded within her as she went for a nerve strike to the inside of Alec's thigh, her fingertips hitting the soft tissues there. The N-Level Sailor grunted with pain, but was relentless as Sam tried to squirm out of the position, her mind panicking harder and harder as her need for oxygenated blood screamed and clawed at her.

She tapped out.

Ryder let her loose as Sam rolled over, coughing from the act of being choked out as she took a moment to catch her breath, feeling absolutely sore all over. She slowly got back onto her feet, Alec giving her a hand as she did so to show that the bout was both professional and over.

"You did three things right." The Pathfinder said, nodding. "First, you didn't hesitate. Sometimes that gets you killed, but being indecisive will _always_ get you killed. I said protect that bag, and you went on the offensive; that was the wiser of two choices." Sam nodded as he reviewed her actions. "Two, you used my obvious advantage of height, strength, and size against me with a Judo move, which was smart. I've been trained to fight against such things, but Judo works well against anyone save Krogan, Elcor, and Hanar. That move would have worked well with just about save a few dozen SpecOps and well-trained martial artists. You would have won against a normal foe, but I'm not a normal foe." Again, Sam understood what Alec was saying, and nodded again. "Three, you didn't just give in when I was in the superior position, nor did you give into panic. You tried to fight your way out by punching me and going for what I assume to be a pressure point strike, which isn't bad. It wouldn't have worked since I didn't actually need my leg at the time, but you didn't cave in immediately, and that's what matters."

"But I lost." Collins pointed out, getting the Pathfinder to chuckle.

" _Everyone_ loses eventually, and generally more than once, Marse." Alec replied, a smile that didn't reach his all-knowing eyes. "What matters this time is that you kept me from the bag, and you did so in a more competent matter than I expected. What matters is that the foundation is there to build upon. We can work on your skills, but the drive is already in place, and that's the lesson I have for today." He went to turn, and grunted. "And my leg hurts like hell."

"So does my neck." That just had the Pathfinder laughing.

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

The days passed by steadily as Marshal Sam Collins worked from her office, reading though her manuals and insights gleaned from her readings in what she would need to do to run the Marshal's Office in the Citadel. Policies and mission statements were read and edited, while procedures and expectations were worked upon for the first guiding steps of her office, to be enacted by her first Deputies. This was the kind of work that she enjoyed, though she wanted to go out on the streets of the Human Wards and do real police work. Sam was realistic; Marshals were generally figureheads made for public statements, policy enforcement and updates, determining the direction of efforts, and budgetary efforts. While she might be out on the streets for the first year or so, working alongside her Officers when their ranks were small and their efforts great, soon or later she would be tied to a desk and tended to like a plant by administrators and assistance. This would, of course, work well with whatever the Council might have in mind for her in concern to the Office of Special Tactics as she hands over the whole shebang to some Federal Marshal who had everything already working, moving pieces and all, as she went out and tested the waters of being a human SPECTRE. Until then, she was going to be the first Marshal to ever work the Citadel that wasn't visiting for whatever reason. This was her permanent duty station, and she was going to make it work.

She worked some sixteen-hour days (human time, at least), with breaks for meals, working out, and sleep.

The Office was quickly coming together with the help of the civil engineer Robert Hawthorne and his crew of construction workers, building desks and setting up 'the shop' (as the workers called it) with quick efficiency. The Squad Room was completed by the beginning of the third day, and the work was moved to the tech-firm portion of the duel store, setting up the Supervisory, the Lab (minus equipment), the Break Room, and the Inspector's Room. The Pit was halfway complete, the Armory was being worked on, and there was even room for a small gym. Water closets would come tomorrow (save the first one they installed for bathroom breaks) and the small Break Room was more-or-less fully functional now. If someone were to walk into the front door, they would see an office more than halfway complete. Sam had already decided to give Robert and his men bonuses for their work, already looking to be completed ahead of schedule with minimal problems.

She had already conducted her first set of interviews.

They had been done on Skype, the interested parties being located throughout Earth Alliance Space in a variety of locations. One Sergeant Sun Moon, a Neo Angeles Police Department Officer in Vice, had forwarded her resume, accommodations, evaluations, and surprisingly a recommendation from both her supervisor and Captain of the Vice Department. NAPD had a bit of a sordid reputation as a tough city filled with tougher cops, and that suited Sam just fine. While she firmly believed in following the letter of the law and protecting and serving people and property, at the end of the day she wanted her men and women to be able to perform the job the next day, not in a hospital. If an escalation of force was warranted… then it was her job to smooth the feathers, not berating her Deputies for having to deal with some imbecile drug-user who thought talking shit to a cop or acting aggressively was somehow appropriate. The interview with Sergeant Moon went well, and Sam was satisfied with the answers the woman gave pertaining to her want to relocate, why the Marshal's Office, why the Citadel, and any special skills she had to offer. Moon was looking for a change of pace, having worked Vice for five years, and needed a change of scenery before she became too jaded. She didn't mind that she might be just a patrolman for the first several months as the Office started up, and understood that there were narcotics on the Citadel, and her expertise on Vice would come handy. Thankfully, the NAPD Sergeant seemed barely cognizant of Collins herself, having not connected her to the Battle of Therum, so at least the woman was changing departments and locations of her own accord, not to work with a rising star. And, Sam came to find out, the woman had never left Earth before, and wanted the opportunity to do so. None of these answers were alarming, and Sam had went into the second part of the interview; mostly ethical questions and scenarios that she found Sergeant Moon answering with good choices that Sam found quite to her satisfaction. Collins knew that she would have to help with the relocation fee for the NAPD Sergeant (which she was okay with) as well as finding her a place to stay (thankfully, there were agencies on the Citadel that did that), so Collins gave her a tentative offer, letting her know that the Marshal would be sending her credentials through both the Marshal's Office on Arcturus and the Office of Naval Intelligence for vetting and background search. Moon didn't look worried at all as they agreed to Skype again at the beginning of the week when the documents were returned.

Ranger Joshua Michael Peterson was a republic/territory police officer in one of the most prestigious law enforcement agencies in the North American Continent; the Texas Rangers. While Peterson himself was mostly a highway cop for the huge territory, responding to calls and patrolling in a hovercraft, he met the high standards of a Ranger, which made him about twice as good as any other police officer in North America save for a select few Precincts and duties. The Rangers were legendary in their zeal of hunting down criminals with dogged determination, and were considered a smaller version of the Global Bureau of Investigations, doing their own forensics and analysis of crime scenes as well as manhunts. The Rangers were one of the few Departments that enjoyed great relationships with other law enforcement agencies, their Officers encouraged to treat others with respect and share credit, as all were brothers and sisters in Blue (or whatever color they happened to wear). Peterson showed top-marks in marksmanship for handguns, and had a plethora of arrests and collars of the normal variety doing the bread-and-butter work of any cop; traffic. He had two years in the Rangers, a degree in Criminal Justice (UTex), and two commendations; one for pulling a woman out of a burning hovercraft, and another for being wounded in the line of duty during a robbery in which he still arrested the man responsible with a round in him. Sam was hopeful with this one too, and the Skype interview had gone smoothly. Josh Peterson was a tall man, athletically built, and wearing the traditional khaki cowboy hat that identified the Rangers, as well as a small mustache on his lip. When she asked why he was willing to transfer, Peterson replied that his supervisor had actually talked him into it, saying that it was a golden opportunity to build up a good foundation for both a law enforcement office and himself as well. Sam was a bit surprised by this answer, but it was a good one. Undoubtedly, Staff Marshal Emilio Torres had passed the word to a few locations on hopeful hires, and word had gotten to Peterson. Collins reminded the Ranger that he wouldn't be working traffic, that he'd be chasing perps on foot. That just had the Ranger laugh and admit that he had done the four hundred meter relay in Gymnasium. Running obviously wasn't going to be an issue. She told him the same thing she told Sergeant Moon about the process, and the young Ranger replied that he was looking forward to a response.

The third one surprised Sam; a redcoat. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police were a federal-level police force in the nation of Canada, the equivalent to the _Federales_ of Mexico and the Federal Bureau of Investigations in the United States, all somewhat conglomerated now in the North American Union. Lieutenant Alex Montoya was in his late-20's, having risen quickly through the ranks of the RCMP, starting off as a speed bike police officer on the highways of Ontario. Sam had heard rumors on how Canadians drove (fast as hell in a country that was mostly empty spaces) and saw another traffic cop who had dragged his way above and beyond his peers in a quick amount of time. That was impressive, and she read through his resume and accolades, and saw just _how_ he got to be a Lieutenant in less than ten years; scandal. Evidently, Montoya had tripped over a bust in which narcotics that _should_ have been in evidence were found in a street buy, and Alex hadn't rested on his laurels when his supervisor had patted him on top of his head, told him he was a good cop, and that his job was essentially complete. This biker cop had taken it upon himself to get to the bottom of things, and found his station to be a part of a drug ring that he cracked open with more brawns than brains, but had done it anyhow. Sam was touched by the read; Alex Montoya had been in a similar situation as herself, and had done his duty as an Officer of the Law, especially when the perpetrators had been not only other police officers, but also ones that he knew. The arrests had made the news (in Canada) and he had gotten a move and a promotion. Unfortunately, he was also the black sheep of the RCMP; he had turned in cops, no matter how right, and the rest of the redcoats shunned him. It was obvious why he wanted the move and change of scenery before even Skyping him. Sam connected to him, and found Montoya to be a police man with eyes that had seen perhaps a little bit too much. He had recognized her off the bat, and knew of her story on Therum concerning her predecessor from the news. Collins knew that already Montoya was looking up at the prospect of working with a woman who had been in a similar situation as he, and wouldn't hold it against him. Another set of documents to process for the Marshal's Office and ONI, and Montoya looked like he was about to eat his own brown-round campaign hat at the thought of joining a department who valued integrity.

The fourth interview wasn't a cop, but a Marine ready to ETS, or End Term of Service. The young man had done his five, and was looking for something similar in mind that wasn't the SAMC. Unfortunately, he was also what the Marines on Therum called a 'terminal lance'; an E-3 that would never get promoted. Lance Corporal Jerry Williams was a twenty-three year old whose Enlisted Records Brief looked decent, but the fact that he never made Corporal in five years was glaring. While Collins didn't understand the intricacies of promotions through the military and what it pertained, she did understand that in the Systems Alliance Marine Corps, if they thought you didn't hack it… you got 'terminally lanced'. It could be for a wide variety of reasons; he didn't show the initiative, the drive, the intelligence, the willpower, the ability to follow simple instructions… the list could go on. Private Blake Bell had groused about a 'terminal lance' that had been in Andromeda Company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment, a slacker who was always doing the bare minimum… mostly. When a brand-new Marine Private could even see it, that was saying something. Sam did the questions regardless, giving the Lance Corporal the benefit of the doubt, and his answers were less-than-appealing. He wanted to be a cop because 'that was where the action was' and hoped to go to the Citadel because 'that's where the Blues were'. He then promptly asked her if she were interested in getting a drink with him.

Needless to say, his credentials weren't going anywhere except a shredder.

The fifth one was a Colonial Sheriff's Deputy out of Illeryia, Elysium, the colonial capital of the planet. Deputy Karen Whitaker was a bit of an iffy one; she had a slue of civil complaints against her pertaining to supposed excessive force charges and police brutality charges from her many, many arrests. Each one had been investigated and she had cleared every single one of them, and the woman was practically the paragon of a lawman; she had more collars than anyone else in her Precinct by a good deal. Still, the multiple infractions suggested something unless the perpetrators she were going for were issuing complaints just because some cop wasn't immediately kissing their ass, which did happen on a fairly regular level. Yet so many on just one officer seemed odd, though the amount of arrests she had were certainly impressive. Sam looked up how many of those arrests led to convictions, and found a number that didn't please her; it was far below ten percent. Deputy Whitaker was either arresting people near the scene of a crime (with or without charges) or arresting anyone with the vaguest resemblance of a BOLO, which was generally also a no-no in such numbers. The interview went surprisingly well at first, the Deputy being a woman of strength and conviction, which Collins liked. But each answer had something in its undertone; a touch of megalomania, perhaps. Her three 'Deputy of the Year' awards were apparently getting to her head, and the woman had all but promised that taking her on would have her 'cleaning the streets Spic-and-Span' within the year. That answer didn't sit well with Collins, no matter how good it sounded. She was running a Marshal's Office, not the SS. Some of the other question had darker undertones for answers as well, considering Whitaker thought 'her department had gotten lazy' when asked why she wanted a transfer, 'why _shouldn't_ we have our own say' as to why she should be on the Citadel (mixed with her other answers and numbers, didn't sound too cooperative), and had practically bombed the ethical part when it came to 'interviewing' suspects and witnesses. Too many of her answers sounded a great deal like borderline physical intimidation (which was wrong) and one answer put a little chill in her when Whitaker admitted to roughing up a suspect to cough out a confession.

Shredder.

The sixth interview went better, thankfully. Surprisingly enough, it was an Interpol Agent from the European Union, a French Nationalist named Inspector Avril Jacotet. A full-fledged Inspector (she had just gotten the promotion the previous year) of International Police Organization of Europe, Jacotet worked in the holy of holy's; the International Incident Response Team. It was Interpol's anti-terrorist and organized crime unit, as well as emergency disaster response. Someone who worked around several nationalities and main job was to liaise different law enforcement agencies together in respect with their separate laws and languages, the Inspector had worked in departments dealing with collaborating separate databases to better locate international criminals, had worked with several different federal-level agencies throughout the world, and had collaborated evidence and intelligence with several different persons to uncover evidence of crimes that led to the arrest to over a dozen international organized crime persons. Stationed in Lyon, France, she had gone to College of Marseille and gotten a degree in Information Technology, which made her a data miner. What was good was that was exactly Sam needed; someone who could connect the dots. The potential of a Detective Deputy was a thrilling one, and the Skype interview had gone without a hitch. Inspector Jacotet was willing to transfer because she felt that she had more to offer than just sitting behind a computer, wanting to make arrests after collaborating evidence and clues, Interpol Agents not having arrest authority (for some reason). She was a Detective that wanted to be a _real_ Detective, not just a computer Detective, and that suited Collins fine. Sure, she lacked the experience of making an arrest, but… Sam was more or less in the same situation herself. Inspector Jacotet could be paired with one of the more experienced cops (like Sergeant Moon) and taught the ropes easily, especially when it came to getting her qualified with firearms and arrest techniques. The Citadel excited her because, like Interpol, it gave her a chance to learn about other cultures and how to work to bring them together (Sam really liked that answer). Avril saw the Citadel as the heart of galactic civilization, and a way to prove both herself and mankind as able to make it work, which suited Collins just fine as well. When she identified who she really was to the Interpol Inspector, the young woman blushed a little and hoped her tenure at the Citadel wasn't quite _that_ exciting. Sam agreed and hoped for the same thing, and gave her the same spiel she had the other potential hires. Jacotet was looking forward to hearing from her again.

The seventh interview was a strange one; it was no less than a member of the 22nd Para. The British 22nd Parachute Regiment was the official name for what everyone else on Earth (and Human Space) knew to be the elite special forces unit known as the British SAS (Special Air Services), the elite British Commando Unit that had been combating the enemies of the United Kingdom and terrorism since World War II. Master Sergeant William Blighly was a thick beast of a man with a drooping mustache and the typical stiff upper lip that Brits were rumored to have, dressed in his commando uniform and red beret. His qualifications were through the roof; this man had figuratively served just about everywhere on Earth, and several spots in Earth Alliance Space. While not exactly a police officer, he had done several roles that were similar, and knew how to take down a suspect and search them for evidence (most likely Earth terrorists). Physically, the man could probably flatten just about anybody, and the 22nd Para's were all about making sure that their Commandos were mentally healthy as well, making them go to see Psychologists to make sure that things like flashbacks and PTSD didn't cause them to harm their families or make them suffer until they were brave enough to come forward. Mentally, the man was as solid as a rock. His answers were equally as impressive, and the man was quite looking forward to somewhere that 'didn't rain all the bloody time'. When it came to the Citadel and the fact that there were aliens involved, he mused at the thought of how intricate the collaboration and intricacies at working with such different viewpoints, looking forward to the challenges of a little get-together to see who might be better, and what they could learn from each other. With children grown and wife laid to rest, he was looking to be someone in a supervisory role for sure. He had no qualms walking a beat and getting to know the populous, and police work was 'a nice quiet change of pace' for him. That had Sam boggled a little bit, but knew this man to be one of the 'quiet professionals' that SpecOps lauded. She almost pitied the poor sap that thought to try and test him. The ethical questions were certainly different, seeing a different viewpoint from a non-law enforcement agent, but found that despite over twenty years of military service, he had a good outlook on things, believing in God and country, and that personal sacrifice for the good of all was a highlight. Sam thanked him for his time, and she had another prospect she was looking forward to calling again.

The last interview was sadly a flunk almost from the get-go. The man she interview hailed from the NKVD; the Russian Army Intelligence Services. The man himself, Captain Nikoli Dimitriovich Mikhailov, was a brute, that much was apparent. He was about the same size as Master Sergeant Blighly, but with almost none of his professionalism. Captain Mikhailov was an apparent alien-hater (that wouldn't do on the Citadel) who looked forward to getting into contact with pro-human elements on the Citadel (a super no-no among law enforcement, who were generally strictly non-political) and championing the human cause. Sam almost asked him if he were Terra Firma or Earth First, but thought better of it, knowing that the interview would likely go downhill from there. He had praised her for her actions on Therum (he apparently was under the impression she executed Batarian prisoners), and was looking forward to working with someone who 'shot first and asked questions later'. The man was a wrong choice on so many levels, and while she said she would forward his dossier for checks and references to the Marshal's Office and the ONI, it really went into the shredder with the terminal lance and walking brutality case.

Five out of eight… that was actually not bad. Sam hoped that the background check and vetting went well for all of them. Alec looked at the potentials, and thought highly at what looked to be her first line of Deputies and potential Detective. He smiled at the sight of Master Sergeant Blighly, claiming to have run into him a time or two, and said that he would fit well as a Supervisor or Chief of Deputies. The Ranger got a nod, as did the Mounted Police, in which Ryder liked seeing Montoya standing for the right thing and trusting his instincts when he thought something felt off. The NAPD Sergeant would be a streetwalker for sure, along with the Ranger and RCMP, and with the inclusion of a potential (and likely) Supervisor and Detective, Sam had a good start on her first batch of hires. Having Sergeant Moon as Vice was a plus, and though Ranger Peterson and Lieutenant Montoya were mostly traffic cops, they had been in the force just long enough to lose the wet behind their ears (as the Pathfinder so eloquently put it). He looked at the fails, and winced at the sight of the notes she had put down for those ones. He agreed that each were potential disasters, and went ahead and forwarded Captain Mikhailov's responses to not only the DSS databank, but messaged ONI as well, just to be on the safe side.

"Still got four personal interviews tomorrow. Plus a pick-up." Collins reminded the N-Level Sailor. "Val said you two knew each other, but all three served with me on Therum. I thought a few familiar faces and some immediate back-up for the time being would be good, considering they're Navy MP's."

"Not bad choices, though SAMP aren't exactly civilian law enforcement." Ryder reminded her, which Collins understood. The Systems Alliance Military let their Military Police have a little bit more looser rules and allowances than what a civilian law enforcement agent could get away with. Shepard had admitted to Sam that in her first unit, she had a Master-at-Arms that had expected to use 'physical coercion' upon Sailors and Marines taken into custody to get confessions, and that the redhead had no idea that it wasn't allowed. Jane had spent the first two years as a Military Police Officer learning how to contort limbs and joints painfully in interrogation rooms, and had rather enjoyed it (at the time). She then was relocated by the Needs of the Navy, Master Chief Valentino had been utterly horrified when she wanted her newly-acquired Sailor go to work on a Marine suspected using narcotics, slamming his head into a table and breaking a finger, and then manipulating the broken finger to get him to admit (truthfully or not) about his drug use.

Val had been ready to Court Marshal then Petty Officer Third Class Jane Shepard when she had asked the redhead why she thought the act was appropriate. Stacy had been even more horrified to learn why, Jane literally not understanding that what she had been doing was beyond wrong because she had spent the previous two years doing just that, actually being lauded (and promoted!) due to her methodology. Still, Military Police had some allowances towards what they could do as oppose to civilian law enforcement besides the threats of prosecution and coercion. Both Val and Mason had promised to play nice in their tenure at the Marshal's Office, and Shepard was made aware what she was allowed to do (or more specifically, what she _wasn't_ allowed to do), still holding a reputation of being 'a limb breaker' amongst the MP's after that particular stunt (which was most certainly used on other military offenders, Jane standing in the room and gloating at the chance of a little elbow grease needed, the threat implied). She hadn't been hemmed up over the incident when Senior Chief Mason made a few discreet calls and found Shepard's claims to be true, but it still showed Sam why she needed to set the bar and the example for such things; there would be Deputies that wouldn't know the difference between a good cop and a bad one if they had never seen the two to compare to.

"Well, hoping for hires from the Marshal's Academy will take time, and I'll be lucky if I net even a couple from the next class." Collins replied, knowing that each class took twelve weeks from beginning to end. As of now, they were still nine weeks from graduation, and the Marshal's Headquarters was the one that made the assignments. There was no guarantee that she would get any, though Sam suspected that she'd probably get two or so for the next half-a-dozen classes over the next three years. That still only gave her twenty-four. "Still, I'm getting some Officers with experience, and two with different experiences that will prove just as helpful. I imagine my first month will be a mix between interviews, hires, and setting up the ground rules. Having someone like you, Val, and Master Sergeant Blighly will be good to have around to run the day-to-day affairs while I find out why people loath working desks." Sam sighed. "Please don't tell me I peaked out at twenty."

"Okay." Ryder replied with a smile. "I won't."

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

 **Systems Alliance Dock, Enders, Zakera Arm, The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula, June 15 2175**

Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard walked off of the Military Transport Cargo-130 Spacecraft by using the lowering ramp that was meant to load both cargo and people in the same fashion, though the cargo was always loaded last and off-loaded first due to its position at the aft. There were several boxes marked 'CMO' and addressed to 'SC' with the stamp of the Alliance Federal Marshal Services upon its surface in case anyone thought to be clever and tried to defeat the biometrically-locked hard cases. A hoverjack had been used to unload the boxes, some in which were quite large, and others that were man-portable, though all of it was going to the same location by the same means; on the back of a Contragravity loader vehicle. Shepard watched on as she noted human dockworkers on the Citadel loading and unloading the equipment with a decent amount of expertise and speed, not really expecting _civilian_ workers to be nearly as efficient as Navy Quartermasters, who knew how to load a vessel down to a science. It took approximately ten minutes for the MTC-130 to be properly unloaded as her green eyes watched on, the workers who eyed her gulping and returning to their work as she gave them hard looks to remind them that they had a job to do, and their job wasn't to ogle her.

It didn't hurt that she was dressed in the same fashion of an Alliance Federal Marshal Deputy, complete with badge and gun.

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino, Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason, and Petty Officer Shepard had all sworn the Oath of Honor earlier that morning as their Shore Leave ended and they began their temporary careers as Marshal Deputies. Gone were the Alliance Navy Blue Battle Duty Uniforms with their pleather paneling and shoulder boards, and the pleather Danners military-styled jump boots. Gone was the black brassard that MP's on vessels and on bases on their left arm to identify them, if the badges clipped to their belts and pacification batons on their hips weren't enough. Gone was the blue beret they wore at all times while on duty, even while inside, to further identify them. They were currently on Temporary Duty (TDY), and they had orders cut to follow their new Commanding Officer, and to assume the roles of their new posting as Deputies of the Marshal's Office of the Citadel, not posing as Navy MP's but dressing in accordance of the AFMS.

Jane Shepard was dressed like a Marshal Deputy.

She still wore the Danners black pleather jump boots (they were comfortable and broken-in, to boot) but everything else that she had worn on duty was now gone. No longer did she wear Navy Blue RipStop cargo pants made of synthetic fibers; now she wore RipStop denim blue jeans, wrangler cut and style. A black pleather belt with a simple belt buckle replaced the nylon jump belt that all members of the Military wore with its Velcro and Jump Ring for cords in case of rappelling or needed to clip onto something while dangling and needed their hands. The black plain military-styled undershirt was gone as well, replaced with a simple white t-shirt with a buttoned dress shirt over it, buttoned to the collar. She kept the Navy-issued sports bra (she had plenty, and it seemed a waste not to) and the t-shirt and dress shirt thankfully disguised its Navy Blue color. A black suit jacket adorned her body, plain and functional, and on top of her head was a black Stetson Black Hawk Felt Telescope Crown with a flat ten-centimeter brim. It had come with a black pleather band studded with small silver medallions along it, and Jane had to admit she really loved the hat. Staff Marshal Emilio Torres had taken the MP's to a Stetson Store near the Marshal Headquarters on Arcturus, letting them see the different shapes, designs, brings, colors, and options. Shepard had no idea there were so many different cowboy hats, and she had spent an hour trying on several until she found the Black Hawk and immediately fell in love with it.

Jane hadn't been the only one, either; Stacy and Royce had spent an equal amount of time at the store as well, almost as giddy as she. While they had more-or-less the same kind of clothes on (Royce had western-styled pants while Stacy had picked boot fit for her new cowboy boots), the main difference in their wear was their hats. Stacy had a Stetson Diamond Crown with a Texas Brim (two leaflets bent slightly up at the front) while Royce had gone for an Outback look, a Pinch Front Crown with a Rolled Brim. They had left their Navy stuff behind, and Jane was secretly relishing the change-of-appearance, as well as being armed with better pistols, having been issued by the Marshal's Office on the Arc Springfield Arms XD Seven-Five Service Pistols, a 7.5-gram heavy pistol that was near the top-end of handgun calibers. It was normally Officer Issue in the Navy and Marines, Enlisted armed with the Hadne-Keder Kessler 5 gram Service Pistol. Jane had been impressed with the armament, expecting either a Glock Safe Arms Model 18C like what Sam had as a back-up piece, a Beretta 92F Patrol Issue, or perhaps the Sig Sauer 7.5 gram Elite, what the Global Bureau of Investigations and the Office of Naval Intelligence carried. Her Seven-Five was styled after the old Colt 1911A1 .45 caliber pistol, slim with a ten-centimeter barrel and a twelve shot heatsink capacity. While not as heavy as Sam's Smith and Wesson, it would certainly do the trick in normal situations, and even most less-than-normal situations, too. The pistol was currently holstered just behind her right hip, riding high, and she liked the feel and the weight of it. The Hadne-Keder Kessler the military issued was a disappointment in of itself, and Shepard admitted that she enjoyed the feel of a pistol that would walk the walk and talk the talk.

"Well they do say that the clothes make the man."

The sound of a familiar feminine voice had Jane smiling broadly as she saw through the dockworkers the sight of two people waiting near the end of the loading ramp of the MTC-130, one an older man, the other a younger woman. Marshal Sam Collins waited down below on the dock dressed in her uniform, wearing her Black Country Gentleman on top of her head, and her jacket affixed with the star of a Federal Marshal. All three MP's moved forward from the belly of the spacecraft to greet their friend as Sam embraced each one of them quickly, her blue eyes dancing as she smiled.

"Likin' the duds, that's f' sure." Senior Chief Mason replied as he adjusted his hat mockingly, giving the brim a little mock-salute with his fingers. "Feel like a fair dinkum frontier lawman ready f' a shoot-out." Sam just looked at Mason for a long second, and peered closer.

"Why is there a dead squirrel attached under your nose?" The Marshal asked, making Shepard snicker at the fact that Royce, now considered a Marshal Deputy, was now allowed to grow facial hair for the first time in his life. The Australian had heroically grown out a mustache during his shore leave, and while not necessarily bushy, had come out fairly nicely, in Jane's opinion. Stacy seemed to favor it as well. Unfortunately, the Marshal was looking at it with a tilted head and a questioning look. "Do I need to get a shovel and say last rites?"

"Don't tease m'mustache!" Royce replied, and hand going to one of the poles going down the side of his mouth. "This is a horseshoe mustache and it is awesome."

"Royce, I work with _Marshals_." Sam just shook her head and looked at him sadly. "I know more about mustaches than most _men_. You need to trim just to the inside of the corners of the mouth and get some bee's wax to help shape it, otherwise it looks scruffy." The young woman shocked them all by licking the pad of her thumb and proceeding to wet the facial hair and shape it with her fingers by pinching it and guiding it down his chin. Mason looked a little astonished (and uncomfortable) but did nothing to stop Collins as she worked for about a minute and gave it a critical eye, thumbing her chin. "Hmm, you'll need a proper mustache comb, trimmers, some bee's wax, and tree oil if you want it to be impressive. I recommend Pantene Pro-V Shampoo and Conditioner. Separate! Not a combo!"

The man standing behind the Marshal, the one in a speeder jacket with an N7's strike down his right arm, was failing at covering his smile.

"Well, actually, it does look better." Jane offered, looking closer. Not that it was fuzzy or anything, but now it looked like the mustache on Royce's face was… intentional, like it was kept-up and cared for. Huh, Sam did know mustaches. "Looks like serious speeders' chops."

"Huh. She's right." Val looked it over and gave a smile. "Does look pretty villainous now."

"Just wait until it grows in with the tree oil and shaped with the bee's wax." Collins replied, and Royce looked a little uncomfortable at the fact that, somehow, this young woman was talking about his manliness with such precision. "Awww, don't worry, Royce. In two weeks time, you will be thanking me and showing off. Come to think of it, you'll have a few new hires that might need some grooming tips. It's either you or me, and I don't think the land of testosterone can suffer that heavy of a blow." That had Stacy cackling hard as the N7 chuckled, unable to contain himself anymore. Jane just smirked at Royce as he gave her a long-suffering look, his face forlorn. "Just look up the ArtOfManliness website. All the other Deputies on Therum swore up-and-down upon it like it was a religion. Should give you tips and such."

"Stacy, I t'ink the sheila really hurt my feelin's." Royce mock-pouted, his lower lip sticking out as Shepard just shook her head. "I might need a hug."

"Aww, I won't let the big bad scary woman get you." The Texan replied, her eyes sparkling as her eyebrows jumped up with enthusiasm. "'Sides, you're always petting it and stroking it. Might as well put some real effort into it and make it exceptional. You said you wanted men to look at it in awe." That had the Senior Chief sigh. "Good to see you again, Alec." The Master Chief said to the other man waiting for them, and Jane found herself looking to the man. She recognized him from… somewhere.

"I apologize." Sam said, turning to the group. "Alec, you know Master Chief Stacy Valentino. With her are Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason," the Australian nodded his head, his Outback's brim dipping forward, "and Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard." Jane affected a cowboy's salute by grabbing the front of her brim and tipping her head with a smile. "Everyone, this is Captain Alec Ryder of the Embassy's Diplomatic Security Services…"

"The _Pathfinder!?"_ Shepard interrupted the introduction as her jaw dropped open and her eyes went to the man standing before them, unable to believe that right in front of her was the _first fucking human to walk anywhere outside their solar system!_ He hadn't touched down on some planet studied for centuries and solved with radio astronomy and science. No, Alec Ryder went to an undiscovered planet and _risked it_ , finding out the facts the hard way. He had walked on some six-dozen optional worlds, and selected a dozen as suitable and viable for possible colonization, finding good spots with possible arable land and potable water. Alec Ryder was literally standing right in front of her and Shepard was in awe. Like the old show tagline suggested, this man literally had boldly gone to where no man had gone before. She had grown up hearing and reading the exploits of Commander Jon Grissom and Lieutenant Alec Ryder, the Pathfinder being the one she most identified with. Growing up on a colony he discovered and planted the colonization beacon on Mindoir, she always wanted to meet him and now that he was standing right in front of her, she found herself utterly speechless. Ryder looked at her with amusement, playing it off coolly as he took a few steps forward and held his hand out to shake.

"It's good to meet you, Chief." The Pathfinder said as Jane found herself shaking his hand and grinning like a complete idiot. She was shaking hands with the Pathfinder! "I might want that hand back." Oh, she was still shaking it.

"Sorry!" Jane tried not to squeak as she stepped back, completely embarrassed as Sam rescued her by stepping to her side and slipping a hand into her own, giving her hand a comforting squeeze as the Marshal smiled at her, her blue eyes dancing merrily. "Oh my God, Sam, how the hell did you find the _Pathfinder?_ " Jane whispered fiercely to the woman standing next to her, her tone bewildered. "And what's he doing here?"

"We work together, sort of." The Marshal replied, shrugging her shoulders, and Jane felt her mouth dropping open once more at the casualness of the answer, as if it were no big deal. One of the most famous men in the entirety of human history and they were _working_ together? "The Embassy tasked him to help me out while I start up the Office. Showing me around, giving me advice, helping write out some of the training manuals for our first line of Deputies when it comes to Citadel Law and Civic Authority. He's been a great help."

"That's so awesome!" Jane couldn't believe she was geeking out. Standing in front of her was the Pathfinder and she was acting like a little girl with a crush!

"Yeah, well, he's also handed my ass back to me in combatives every time, too." Sam smiled, making Jane look at her as if she had gone mad. "He gave me a laundry list of new exercises and a regimen to complete to get me in even better shape. He's bulking me up, essentially."

"Mmm." Shepard smiled as Sam shook her head, her lips curving upward regardless. " _Mine."_ The redhead whispered into the brunette's ear, dropping the tone of her voice into something possessive and seductive, letting off a nice sultry suggestion to the word. Sam actually blushed a little. "So we're working with him?"

"For the time being, yes." Collins nodded as Jane leaned back, impressed. The Pathfinder was not only the first man to set foot upon an extrasolar planet, but like Val, he was a Shanxi Vet and a survivor of _Operation: Repensium_. "I didn't ask the timeline on it, but I got the impression it would be for the foreseeable future, though it might scale back some as times passes and we're running operations at some capacity. For now, I'm taking full advantage of the fact that he's one of the longest human residents on the Citadel, and has access to a good deal of information, intel, suggestions, and knowledge about the locations and politics. We couldn't have found better if we tried."

"Still… so… cool." Shepard fought the urge to geek out again and the thought of being able to work with _Alec Ryder!_ Her Secondary Gymnasium was named after him! She could even name every member of his Pathfinder Team! She would die from embarrassment if she admitted that she actually had his action figure when she was a kid, a Christmas present one year. And Sam was working out with him? That was… nuts! The man was an N, and had achieved the highest level of combat proficiency in that course, the legendary '7' Course. If she'd got a better grip on herself, she would definitely talk to him. Imagine the tales he had!

"Well, all of you are cordially invited to dinner at my apartment, and I'm putting you three up since I have the room instead of trusting one of those Credit-robbing hotels the Wards have." The Marshal told the Navy Non-Coms. "I've already made up one of the spare bedrooms for you two," Sam indicated Stacy and Royce, "and you guys can take the time to find a place of your own if you wish, but the hospitality is for an extended period of time as needed."

"Well, that is nice of you, but…" Stacy began, but Royce elbowed her in the ribs softly and grunted. Val sighed. "We appreciate and accept your offer."

"Do _I_ get a guest room?" Jane asked pointedly, looking at Sam as she blushed a little, the younger woman trying not to look guilty.

"I would like it if… you would stay with me." Collins said shyly, looking at Jane in the eyes. Stacy got the hint to be anywhere else as she tugged Royce away, and Alec led them deeper into the Systems Alliance Docks as the brunette looked to the redhead with a little apprehension. "I… didn't think to ask you if that was what you wanted. I presumed…"

"Correctly." Jane smiled as she interrupted Sam, taking both of the younger woman's hands into her own, facing her. "I'm… kinda not Navy right now, and the only people that know are Stacy and Royce, and they don't care. Hell, you think they aren't eating this up, too?" Sam nodded meekly, knowing that Stacy and Royce had to put their long-term relationship on hold on a few occasions because of Navy Policy. "I know you've got a lot on your plate, Sam, probably three times worse than you ever had it on Therum. You are literally doing things that no one else has done, in places no one thought we would ever do them in. I… I want to help you do it, to stand by your side. Right now? I can't think of a better place in the galaxy to be than right here with you." Sam blushed at the comment, but was also all smiles as her blue eyes only moved back and forth slowly, hardly noticeable. Jane had begun to learn that there was a certain method to those eyes, signs of what was going on in Sam's supercomputer of a brain, little hints of discovery of someone who truly took the time to learn about someone who had Autism.

Jane had looked up some medical profiles on the ExtraNet while on Shore Leave for a little bit better understanding, to see if there were things she should know or things she could do that might help both her and Sam. She didn't want to change Sam, but she did want to understand her better. The sites were sadly not as helpful as she hoped they would be, dealing with those who were not as high-functioning as Sam was, and generally were oriented towards children. When it came to adults, there was sadly little information, and Jane thought she understood why; most of the information was oriented towards _parents_ learning and discovering the condition for their little loved ones, the information to help them adjust. But by the time those children had grown, those same parents had learned not only those little signs, but the condition changed as well with maturity, sometimes lessening in severity.

Jane thought that might have happened to Sam, the younger woman mentioning that she barely remembered much of her childhood, a random collection of hard-to-understand memories that her mind couldn't process correctly at the time. Yet she also mentioned that she had 'grown' to understand things, learned how to adapt as a young teenager, and after reading some of those medical sites, Jane thought she understood why. Autism was a neurodevelopment condition, but the mind, like the body, grew and matured with age. Sam had simply evolved with it, and reached the point that her mind could process the confusing world to a degree where she could understand and interact with it. The timeframe made sense too, the pre-teen years being where people began to grasp much more complex ideas and processes that children didn't necessarily get, both maturity and experience working to create an _adult_ mind.

At that time, Sam must have seemed to have exploded with functionality in a very short period of time as her mind underwent that process, fueled by her Autistically-savant mind, as if someone went and flipped a switch inside of her and activated her. The younger woman had credited therapy and programs before, but now Jane wondered if they did help as oppose to Sam helping herself. The statistics of Autistic orphans coming into functionality had been a heartbreaking low number as oppose to those who had parents and loved ones to see to their daily needs and working with them, a level of trust and love that an Autistic craved in times of need.

That was what Jane was looking for, that secret right there; trust and love.

How many times had Sam faltered, her eyes expanding and wavering, seemingly trying to absorb everything at once? Jane remembered that moment in the Market Square in Nova Yekaterinburg, after she had gotten harpooned by the _Kanavor_ -29 Assault Craft, when Sam had saved her from the worst thing possible; captured by the hands of the Batarians. Sam had fractured, had started rambling and for a few seconds, Jane had no idea what was really going on or what to do. She pleaded for Sam to come back to her as the younger woman simply started to describe _everything_ at a speed she barely understood, so she had stupidly done something right; she kissed Sam, shocking her back into something 'real'. Having looked up information, Jane discovered what she had done on accident to cause it, and then what she had done to 'fix' it.

Autistics lived in a world of confusion, their minds interpreting things differently than normal people. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but as Jane understood it, it was similar to someone who had to 'learn' to deal with the loss of one of their five senses such as sight or hearing, and learning to cope with it. The difference was that Autistics were born that way, and the brain was 'trying' to process things in the normal fashion that everyone else did when their minds weren't geared that way; it was like putting a Contragravity engine into a wheeled vehicle. There wasn't anything wrong with them, Jane realized as she read those articles from the ExtraNet, learning more from the parents with suggestions than fully-accredited Psychologists (and she should have seen that one coming!). They were simply wheeled vehicles that were meant to fly, just stuck on the ground. Jane had provided something to Sam that she had never had before; personal comfort. The younger woman admitted that she had never had anything of the like before, no one had ever attempting to try, and that had broke Jane's heart a little bit. No doubt those therapy sessions Sam took as a child were geared towards children, but not nearly so much young adults. And when Sam was suddenly 'better'? They probably fed her medication and ignored her! (Dicks.)

Sam literally lived in the worst-case scenario; an orphan in an orphanage, surrounded by _employees_ , orderlies and administrators that probably saw kids like Sam as charges and wards. Oh, there probably was a nurse or two who saw them as little miracles and gave them some measure of attention and devotion, but it was a nurse who went home at the end of the day, gone two-thirds of the time. No one had ever adopted Sam, left her in a bureaucratic administrative hell that was probably some room with a dozen kids sharing, each with their own needs, being Autism, Down's Syndrome, or Asperger's (actually, Jane wondered if Sam had been misdiagnosed and actually had Asperger's, but she wasn't a Psychologist). It was a wonder that Sam was as developed as she was, and probably a miracle in itself.

"Jane?" Sam looked at her with those blue eyes of her, steady as a rock now, paying attention to nothing else but her. The redhead moved in a little closer, to the point where their bodies were almost touching, making the younger woman's breath catch in her throat a little with the near physical contact. "You… really want to? I mean…" The eyes were slowly starting to shift, losing their intensity.

"Hey." Jane gave her a smile, a real one, and leaned forward to give her a light kiss on her cheek, remembering that they were in public. "Stay with me." The eyes stopped moving, and went back to her own. "I'm actually looking forward to this, venturing off into something new. And we've got each other, right?"

"Yes."

"Good." The redhead smiled. "'Cuz I'm actually looking forward to seeing this apartment you've been talking and messaging me about. You're own damn waterfall?" That had the younger woman blush a little. "Does it have a pool, because I'm thinking skinny-dipping!"

"Jannie!" The brunette admonished her, looking shocked at the thought as the redhead laughed, getting a rise out of Sam. "Do _not_ go skinny-dipping in my dining room!"

"Oh, it's going to happen." Shepard promised with a smile. "I'll just have to pull you in with me."

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Marshal Sam Collins walked through the new Marshal's Office, seeing the construction crew of Weiss Construction unloading the equipment that Master Chief Valentino had brought along on the flight from Arcturus Station to the Citadel, seeing hard case boxes made of polyurethane compounds for protection, some of them rather large. A datapad shipping manifest had her almost giddy; it was the specialized equipment that she had forwarded to Staff Marshal Emilio Torres, the things that she knew would be needed, such as several database linking privileges pertaining to records and entries for human beings in the EarthGov System, Colonial System, and the Systems Alliance, giving her records and biometrics for perhaps ninety-eight percent of humanity. She now had fingerprints, DNA, RNA, and even a good amount of retinal data on people for identification purposes.

One of the boxes contained a Green Bit MultiScan527g, which acquired not only ten-prints, rolls and half-palms, but also all types of supplemental prints as per GBI EBTA Appendix P Standard; rolled thenar and hypo-thenar (ball of palm and writer's palm, respectively), full finger flat and rolled (distal, medial, and proximal), as well as rolled fingertip impressions. It was quite literally one of the best devices on the market (and the most expensive) for portable fingerprinting, with the kind of quality that would extract partials, imprints, and even extracted soiled prints. The technology was of a quality that it not only met the standard for the Global Bureau of Investigations' lofty standards, based on the Evidence-Based Technical Analysis policy to ensure proper procedure and evidence in trial. It was literally so good that it was only licensed to certain Ministry of Justice Departments, and even then only so many were allotted so that someone couldn't discover the means to defeat it and release the specifications on the ExtraNet.

Another couple of boxes contained the highly-sophisticated IntegenX RapidHIT 200 DNA Analysis Machine. Torres had sent her _four_! The RapidHIT was a portable DNA analyzer that could extract DNA from a swab of cotton and come up with a profile, check it against a loaded database, and report a match or not in _ninety minutes!_ The average wait time for the GBI Processing Lab was something like two days, and that didn't include travel time. Sam had been expecting a Full-Spectrum DNA Analyzer that would probably take up a table in its entirety. This thing could sit on the corner of a desk and still have room to work on reports! _And she had four!_ She could run an Analysis Lab without having technicians tripping over themselves or equipment stuffed into a room, not to mention she had equipment that any Deputy could run.

Another set of boxes contained specialized OmniTools, the Samsung Blueberry Law Enforcement-Edition OmniTool, generally known as a BlueTool. A cobalt blue GUI-interface holographic skin display and Haptic overlay were the first innovations to this highly-advanced personal 'Tool that was coveted by Law Enforcement Agents everywhere in Earth Alliance Space. It was the top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art OmniTool for anyone that held a badge. It came with a higher processing speed than the other company models, and even that of its competitors, and a higher-grade minifacturing unit that could produce items at a much faster rate, at a higher quality, and in a more efficient manner to conserve on 'Gels. It boasted a petaByte memory drive, a processor that ran in the hundreds of gigaHertz, could download up to 10G speeds, connect to the Li-Fi Network independent of nodes, and was the host of at least two dozen LEApps that had been modified and improved for response and service. Sam almost couldn't believe that she somehow had gotten twenty of them, the Samsung Electronics Corporation unable to make them fast enough as they were in very high demand among law enforcement agencies throughout all of Earth Space. To include the Apps that created handcuffs and flashes of blinding light, the BlueTool also hosted a Taser App, a Mace App, a Sonic App meant to deafen and disable, a Magnetic Hook App for disarming, a Light Shield App that created a small PlastiGel shield meant to protect from anything from thrown object to small arms fire, a Heartbeat Monitor App, an Advanced Medical Diagnostics App, an IdentiChip Display App, a two-way communications App between linked 'Tools, a Punch App meant to shatter polymer glasses, such as alumniglas or flexiglas, a Megaphone App, a Lasso/Bola App, a Scanner App made to identify all objects within a framed area and distance, and even a Pacification App simply called 'seize'. She had to look that one up, and was shocked to see that it was to make its victim suffer a _micro-seizure_. Collins wasn't sure she was thrilled with that, but the company website indicated that it had been tested both safely and effectively with no long-term consequences. It was stated for use on those suffering narcotics symptoms, and had a very high rate of success.

Needless to say, she was quite happy with the additions.

There were other pieces of equipment that had been delivered to her, to include Springfield Arms XD Seven-Five Service Pistols, Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifles, Glock Safe Arms Model 18C Machine Pistols, Ballistic Impact-Resistant Vests Level-IIa, and Rosenkov Materials' Medium Patrolman Armor. The Springfields were nice, a heavier-caliber service pistol that was popular with the federal-level law enforcement agencies, and the Glocks were good for situations that required a lighter caliber (such as interiors where the possibility of suspects and innocents being in the same room and stray fire was a concern). She had also gotten twenty-five kilograms of basic quality CeramiGel, PlastiGel, and MetalGel, as well as five kilograms of good quality MediGel. One box showed five sets of Elanus Risk Control Services Heavy Endurance Armor, standard riot gear found in the NAPD, NYPD, and the Met Police. She had pretty much inherited what was standard for a fully-functional metropolitan police precinct, at least for the first year, the rest undoubtedly coming out of her budget slowly but surely. Having some of it now was a boon, though, and gave her something to work with, as she wasn't exactly an expert on such things yet, though the addition of Master Chief Valentino meant that she would have some serious knowledge and experience on her side at the least. Staff Marshal Emilio Torres had really pulled in a few favors for her and set her up with some great equipment for her Office and the right equipment for her men. With this, she could run her Office fully and functionally once she had men and women to man their stations and start pulling patrols and working investigations.

Things were beginning to look up.

"Hey, Marse."

Sam looked up to see Master Chief Valentino standing there with a smile on her face as the Marshal inventoried the equipment that had been delivered to her, looking through the selection in their hard cases in what was to be the Detective's Office, pulling out the appropriate datapads that would go over each piece of equipment and explain their use and warranties. Val was already going to put most of it into the Armory, being the Master-at-Arms and responsible for the policies and procedures of the Armory, writing up the first steps mostly based off the Navy Provost Marshal's own regulations, which were some of the best and most attentive in all of the Systems Alliance.

"Hey, Val." Sam replied, picking up a BlueTool bracelet and showing it to the blonde woman. "Torres really came through for us. This is the best 'Tool for cops, literally top-of-the-line. Go ahead and start working out an Inventory Issuance List for distribution for you guys, and set it up for future Deputies. I'll give you a memo on what I expect a basic Deputy should have on patrols and investigations, and another for special services if we ever reach the point of having an actual tactical team."

"Easily done. The military form is a MOD form that's free-for-distribution, clear and concise for anyone to learn and use." The Master Chief replied, folding her arms across her chest. "I'll go ahead and check everything off. Your interviewees showed up and are waiting in the lobby." The Texan's eyes sparkled at that, a pleased tone to her voice. "Look like a good bunch from eyeball level. Well, the last one…" Her voice drifted off, Sam knowing what Stacy meant.

"They're all early." Collins commented, looking at her chronometer on her Apple Corps iTool, seeing that her appointments were actually almost an hour early. "Give me a few minutes to prep up and I'll call them back individually if you don't mind giving them the tour."

"And take away Royce's chance to give them the 'ole chinwag'?" Stacy replied, amused. "He's already talking their ears off, and none of them are looking bored, so we've got them entertained, at the least." There was a standard model Holovision monitor in the lobby, but no subscriptions to Alliance News Network or Westerlund News had been purchased yet. She had considered Citadel News Services as well, considering their location, but it was the most expensive one of the top ten news agencies, despite living right on the station itself. Right now, the HV was streaming police-oriented HV shows with the sound off off of ENetFlix thanks to Petty Officer Jane Shepard adding her account to the device. "Go sit at your office and sip coffee like a good Officer while us Non-Coms do all the grunt work."

"See? It's like you never left the military." Sam said with a smile, Stacy making a rude noise in reply.

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Marshal Sam Collins sat at her desk, a little nervous when her first interview came walking to her door, knocking politely upon the wooden portal with its frosted window, her title and name monogrammed upon its flexiglas surface already as she took a deep breath, willing her mind to calm itself as she announced for the person in question to enter. She already had reviewed the resume of one Marcus van de Walt, former Officer of the Johannesburg Police Department in the Republic of South Africa. He had spent five years working in one of the worst precincts with the highest crime rate in all of South Africa, Jo'burg having such a reputation that Sam immediately saw a man who had probably seen too much. According to van de Walt's resume, he had gotten out because he had refused an order he wouldn't stand for during one of the more publicized food riots that plagued the country. He and his fellow officers, dressed up in heavy police armor, had been ordered to fire upon rioters with fully automatic weapons. Not above; _upon_. Van de Walt had refused to fire upon people he had sworn an oath to serve and protect, and that had her attention. She indicated in her message to him the admiration she had in that decision, and that an interview with her wouldn't be a waste of either of their time.

"Mister van de Walt." Sam stood up and reached over her desk to shake the man's hand, a tall Afrikaner with piercing blue eyes and a face set in stone. While not as large or as muscular as Senior Chief Mason or Captain Ryder, van de Walt was a large and imposing man. "Or is it _vandeValt_?" The man was born and bred in South Africa, and the native language there was of Dutch-origin, the 'w's sounding like 'v's'.

"' _VandeValt_ ' is correct." He supplied, his voice heavily accented as he shook her hand, obviously pleased that she tried to say his last name correctly, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly upward before their hands released and he sat in the chair stationed in front of her desk. He was dressed sharply but conservatively, in a black fitted suit oriented towards business, with a white-buttoned dress shirt and black necktie to complete the ensemble. Van de Walt was currently employed at Hillard Heintze Security Consulting, a Security Consultation Firm that dealt with private investigations and security risk management. This was a double-boon; a former Police Officer and Corporate Security would understand both sides of that line, knowing how the streets worked as well as the office environment. He worked as a Subject Matter Expert Consultant with the firm, offering legal advice pertaining to law enforcement organizations and private security firms on technical issues like use of force, officer-involved altercations, transparency, accountability, misconduct, procedural justice, and community relations. The man had 'supervisor' written all over his resume, and Hillard Heintze assumed her that van de Walt came highly recommended for use (they thought she was going to hire him as a consult, not steal him). "I admit that I am surprised to see a Federal Marshal on the Citadel, especially one intending to establish a Marshal's Office on the Citadel itself. To my recollection, it has not been attempted before." The man looked at her, assessing her. "Smart, finding someone with an established reputation that extends beyond Earth Space and Systems Alliance Space. I, of course, know _of_ some of what happened upon Therum and Revan; part of my job." Collins had to admit that the man did seem to take his position seriously, and something like this was right up his alley. "How the Alliance got the Chamber of Governance to agree to it would be a subject of much debate. Political wrangling at its finest, I assume." For a man who didn't know the truth, he had gotten a good lead. This one was smart.

"Some wrangling, some necessity, I am afraid." Sam replied, offering as little breadcrumbs as possible. She hadn't expected someone to stumble onto an inkling of the truth yet, but van de Walt was obviously not a fool. "The Human Wards have been in a constant state of turmoil and upheaval, and the opportunity to have humans policing humans to ease the tensions and de-escalate the situation before it boils over was a big ticket item for the Alliance. There were other Marshals who were looked upon for the position, but it is as you said; we wanted someone recognizable for the other agencies on the Citadel, as well as someone who wouldn't inherently have issues dealing with the other species on the Citadel as well. We're here to help ease the issues and solve the problems, not add to them. Now," Sam began the interview, "you responded to my offer, which means you were either looking pertaining to your job at Hillard Heintze," she could see that a Security Consultant keeping tabs like that, and appropriately so, "or you were looking for personal reasons." She left it out in the open, a question without asking.

"I do like my job." The Afrikaner replied honestly enough. "I work in the office instead of the streets. I wear a suit instead of a badge. I help companies and agencies with extra-judicial issues and sensitive manners in which research and finesse are paramount. But," the truth was about to come out, and Collins didn't interrupt, "it is not the same. I miss going to the classrooms in schoolhouses and talking to children. I miss walking a street and people automatically straightening up and grooming themselves to a more acceptable appearance. I miss the feel of a good day's work at the end of a shift, the camaraderie of my fellow officers in the squad room or locker room. I miss… making that difference."

"Catholic or Christian?" Sam guessed, seeing the man give off another ghost of a smile.

"Lutheran. You?"

"Roman Catholic." The Marshal replied, nodding. A man who saw himself doing God's Work, but in the right way. It made sense now, that refusal; he didn't take a life unless it was absolutely necessary, probably finding alternative means to solve a situation because he believed in justice and compassion. Marcus van de Walt was the proverbial white knight now in a job that didn't satisfy his need to do _good_. "I won't lie, this job is going to be tough. Maybe not Jo'burg tough, but pretty damn close."

"I am aware. I live here, after all." The man supplied. His residency was in the 1300 Lower Wards, while his job was in the 0800 Sky Wards. "Half of the work will be the people, the other half… C-SEC." Yeah, wasn't that the truth? "Every C-SEC Officer in the Wards is Turian, and a very high percentage of them are not favorable towards humanity."

"Well, it's a good thing I have someone who happens to be a good consultant on such things as extrajudicial policy and intradepartmental relations." Sam smiled, and the man snorted, realizing that he had walked right into that one. "It'd be good to have someone who knows Citadel Security Law inside and out, especially the loopholes that would work in our favor while we push towards establishment and recognition, wouldn't it? Besides, there's a hundred and five square kilometers of real estate that needs someone to be that thin blue line, and two million people who need someone to look out for them, even from themselves."

"That is the truth." The ghost smile came back. "It is good that you are a negotiator, Marshal, I doubt you would be able to afford my rates at Hillard Heintze."

"How about a handshake, instead?" Sam supplied, and with that, she gained her first hired Deputy.

The second interview started ten minutes later after Sam reviewed the resume, and found this one as odd as she had the first time around. While Marcus van de Walt was a Security Consultant with prior law enforcement experience, this man was neither. He was, literally, a private security guard from a corporation, albeit at a managerial level. Jonathan Teller worked at an interactive entertainment tech-firm corporation that specialized in the console gaming industries, and even Sam knew of the name; BioWare Corporation. Teller walked in wearing a three-piece fitted gentleman's suit, the kind that came with a labeled name, as clean-cut and groomed as van de Walt. Unfortunately, there the similarities ended. Jonathan Teller wasn't nearly in the athletic shape that the Afrikaner had been, though he was lean. At first glance, Sam would call him… bland, almost unimpressive at first sight. But what had her agreeing to the interview was that his resume detailed him as primarily an IT Security Officer, and then later on a Security Operations Supervisor, and then promoted to Operations Security Manager. This wasn't a flatfoot cop, but someone who understood the logistics of running an office, with experience in software security. That was a big plus. According to his resume and letters of recommendation, not all of his work involved a desk or a computer, either. That was nice.

"Mister Teller." Sam shook the man's hand, seeing that he was in his mid-30's, with soft brown eyes and a lean face. His hair was a little on the shaggy side, though maintained. "Thank you for coming."

"A pleasure." The man replied as he took to the seat, unbuttoning his coat before he did so, Sam noticing the act. That was a normal thing for a businessman to do to keep their suits from being bunched up or wrinkled while sitting. It had been automatic, a habit of years. "I was surprised to see a Systems Alliance law enforcement endeavor being employed upon the Citadel. That certainly got my attention."

"And you were looking for law enforcement-related positions because…?"

"Downsizing." Teller winced, his face falling slightly. "Don't get me wrong; I absolutely love my job. I'm just about as important as a game producer, because I protect assets and intellectual property. Do you have any idea how many people try to hack into our servers to feed bugs or take parts out of our game engines on a _daily_ basis? Don't get me started on the bribes and employees that try to take code and graphics out of the office and sell them to Green Hats." Okay, Sam had to admit that this interview was not at all like she was expecting. Most cops thought Corporate Security suit-wearing soft goons who hunched over video feeds. This man obviously knew his job and took it very seriously. Hell, he worked in a billion-dollar Corporation and worked at Management Level. That was saying something. "Company's getting bought out by EA," Sam frowned at that, shaking her head, "Electronic Arts. It's another game maker that produces a ton of sports-related video games and… you don't play video games, do you?"

"Nope."

"That's… not surprising, considering." Teller shrugged, obviously not deterred. "Anyhow, EA shelled out the big bucks to buy a winning team and their first act was to gut it. We've all gotten the pink slip because EA wants to use their own pukes-in-a-suit to keep _their_ assets safe as oppose to keeping the guys who have been doing it for years. So… they picked the 'Red' option."

"'Red' option?"

"Destroy?" The man's mouth twirled to one side, stymied. "Control? Assimilate? That's right… no video games. You've never played Galaxy of War, have you? Would have been big when you were a teenager, final game's ending has you picking Red, Blue, or Green?"

"I'm an orphan." Sam replied a little frostily. "Not a lot of gaming consoles in a Catholic orphanage."

"Right." Teller chewed his lip for a second. "Anyhow, fifteen years, and they're canning us. Sure, the 'parachute' severance package they're giving is nice, but it isn't a retirement, and I love what I do. So I'm job hunting through security-related positions on the Citadel, mostly disappointing, when I saw yours." The man shook his head. "You've got balls, Marshal. C-SEC is going to be _PISSED_."

"Then what made you come?"

"Honestly?" Teller smiled a little. "This is big. Writing's on the wall that we're getting tired of being pushed around. C-SEC isn't bad, mind you, but they've seemed to have filled the Human Wards with every monkey-hating Turian they could find and plopped them right onto us. I've lived here for ten years now, and I remember most of the incidences that have occurred, the silent abuse and high-handed oppression. I don't have a bone to pick, but I don't mind rubbing it in _just_ a little when it comes push-to-shove. I know I'm more computer geek than a flatfoot, and I don't doubt that you'll need someone who has some high-level computer security skills in the future. I've dealt with a fair share of physical aspects of the job," his resume and letters of recommendations did indeed supported that, "but a chance to make people hold their head up a little higher? Chance to look back and said 'yep, I did that'? At the end of the day, human lives matter, and I want to say that I did my part." That came with a shrug, and had Sam thoughtful.

"You mention the physical aspects of your job." Sam moved towards that point. "It says here you were in a hostage negotiation?"

"Yeah, that." Teller shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable. "An in-office romance that blew up and out of proportion, unfortunately. One was a computer graphics designer, the other a lead. Designer was cheating on the lead with another man supposedly, and the lead brought in a gun, took him hostage, and was demanding to see the boy toy, otherwise he'd blow the designer's brains all over the office." It took Sam as second to realize that all three involved were men. "Anyhow, I show up about a minute in, trying to calm the lead down while one of my boys squirrelled the model actor away; that was the boy toy. Told the lead boy toy was out sick and wasn't anywhere near the office, and he began to panic. Designer was sobbing with a smuggled Moses Brothers' Self-Defense Frontier Model B pressed against his temple, and the lead is switching the gun between the designer and me." Teller just shrugged it off. "About two minutes in, lead kinda imploded from the stress of the situation, dropped the gun, and was hugging the designer when I confiscated the weapon and called C-SEC." His face went ugly after that. "The Turians took and arrested them both, making it hurt unnecessarily by contorting their arms and pressing their faces into the floor. They were both unarmed and compliant, and hell! I had them sitting in chairs in the break room, unrestrained but monitoring them. Lead ended up with five years in an IsoCube as well as a great deal of bruises and micro-fractures to his hands and arms from the arrest."

"That's one of the things I intend to change." Sam replied, getting a nod from Teller. "We are law enforcement, but we're also here to serve and protect. It is a very thin line to walk, and most make little mistakes in their careers, usually nothing more the overt intimidation in an interrogation room, or perhaps a little too zealous in an arrest. As long as they are rare and not the cause of anything worse than bruised egos and pride, I am a bit more understanding. But blatant excessive force is not acceptable."

"Good. I wouldn't want to trade one set of oppressors for another." Teller nodded in agreement. "I know I probably don't fit the bill for a patrolmen or whatever you call your flatfooted Deputies, but you're probably not likely to find someone with my skills in tech and computer security. And those are paramount in anyone who needs high-grade electronics which," he gestured towards the door, "I saw more than a few pieces on my way in. You need your security top-notched and a host of programs that will help you guys in investigations? You'll want me for that at the very least. I'm not too shabby behind a desk." That came with a half-smile, and Sam had to admit the man knew how to sell himself.

"Welcome aboard."

The third interview was a little bit of a letdown; Ray Johnston was nothing more than a young 'rent-a-cop' working at a Human Wards shopping center, meant to monitor loss prevention calls and direct people to the bathroom. Ray himself ended up being a bit overweight, dressed in probably the best suit he could afford (or rent), and had no actual experience or accreditations to his name, not even simple 'Employee of the Month' awards. He had been living on the Citadel for two years, and Sam briefly wondered how the hell he could afford a place on the Citadel at what appeared to be a low-paying menial job involving him scooting around on a hoverboard. While a nice young gentleman who was all 'yes ma'am's' and 'no ma'am's', he seemed a bit too meek to be someone who would be patrolling the streets of the Wards. She remembered the statistics that indicated the amount of crime the Wards had, and knew that Ray Johnston would likely be her first _casualty_ if she brought him on. She went through the numbers on the interview, giving him the same chance as everyone else, and while his answers were positive, they were prosaic as well, no real sense of duty or drive to him. He wanted to become a Deputy because he liked the thought of humans policing humans, was rather unsatisfied with his current job directing people to the bathroom, and wanted more out of his life. When Sam asked him what he had done to accomplish that goal, he had looked at her sheepishly and told her that he applied for the position to do just that. That wasn't what she wanted to hear, an opportunist who seemed hopeful that good things would fall onto his plate as oppose to working for them. She did thank him for his time, and while she didn't hire him, she did intend to send a letter of recommendation on his file for another security-related position. Who knew? Perhaps EA needed guards.

The last personal interview was the strangest of all; she wasn't even human. Sam had been curious as to why someone like she had even applied, no one being that dense to realize that she probably didn't have a chance in hell to being accepted. Yet the Marshal approved of the initial interview, receiving a folder of performance reviews from past first-line supervisors in electronic form, and even a boot camp graduation certificate. There was no resume, which actually didn't surprise Sam at all, instead receiving an EN-Mail from the potential hiree explaining the same concept. Chances were she had never heard of a resume.

Walking into her office was a female Turian Hierarchy Sailor.

" _Legio_ Nysiana Velyanis?" The Marshal asked as she saw a two meter tall Turian walking into her office, armored in Haliat Armory Light Legionus Naval Armor, colored in the traditional matte greys of the Palavenian Hierarchy. The female was tall but thin, with a lesser-protruding cowl and a short fringe that didn't extend past the crown of her skull, as was generally what humans recognized in Turian females. She was lithe for her species, standing before her desk and _saluting_ her in the Turian fashion; talons-to-heart, fringe tilted forward. "At ease, _Legio_. Take a seat." Thankfully, Sam had experienced some military protocol with her time with the Naval Security Team when they served under her in Therum. The wording and procedures might not be the same, but they would be understood and recognized, at the very least. "I must profess, Velyanis, your application… surprised me." That was an understatement, but Collins was doing her best to be fair to everyone. Apparently, that included female Turians. "Not to insult your intelligence, but you are aware that this is a Systems Alliance law enforcement agency, correct?"

"I am aware, _Vigilus_." The female replied, her flanged voice light yet… tired? Perhaps worn. It was a little hard to tell, and Sam certainly wasn't an expert on Turians. She recognized the rank that Velyanis called her; a _Vigilus_ was a Citizen Commander chosen to head Civil Protective Services, selected by the Hierarchy. Essentially, a Police Commissioner. There wasn't an exact direct equivalent of a Marshal in the Turian Hierarchy, though the _Vigilus Comatatus_ of the Protectorate of Civil Services was the closest, running the Civil Protective Services for five years before bowing out and letting the next take over.

"Your Hierarchy service record indicates that you are a third-tier citizen, which is just above Boot Camp Recruit, as I understand it," the female's mandibles twitched with that, "and your position on the THV _Valiant Resolution_ is… Boatswain's Mate, Third Class? That's ships' maintenance and sanitation, correct?"

"Correct, _Vigilus_." The female replied again, completely formal. Not an ounce of disrespect or stepping out of line. No small talk, either.

"It says here that you work the Orlop Deck for a Turian Dreadnaught. Now," Collins looked at the datapad that had _Legio_ Nysiana Velyanis' military records on it, "I'm not Navy, but Orlop is the bottom deck. And you are the janitor."

"I scrape and clean the _s'kak_ off the walls and pumps, if that is what you are suggesting."

Sam merely blinked at that response. _S'kak_ referred to Turian defecation; shit, essentially.

"There are other duties, of course." The Turian sat ramrod straight, her talons on her knees, sitting in what Collins assumed was the position of attention in a chair. "Wires, connections, water pipes, electrical conduits, thermal paneling, Helium feeds, Slush tanks, depleted Eezo containment… but everything runs downward with gravity, even artificial gravity on a ship, and _s'kak_ , as they say, always runs downward.

"But I always wanted to be in the Civil Protective Services."

"And this led you to look at a Systems Alliance Government Job posting?" Collins asked, a little confused. She wasn't sure how the Hierarchy worked exactly, with its multiple citizenship tiers and some seventy percent of the Turian population considered government employees in one form or another. Velyanis was still Active Service, serving in the military, and civil service was a quasi-military duty that shouldn't have issues receiving a military member into its authority, as she understood it. But something made it sound like she… couldn't?

"I apologize, _Vigilus_. You… are human. You wouldn't know." The Turian female went quiet for a second, looking… defeated, her mandibles dropping as her faceplates contracted slightly, souring perhaps?

"First? Relax, or… whatever the military equivalent is." Sam interjected, seeing the Turian looking at her oddly. "This is an interview, not a command-and-review. You're obviously tense, which isn't surprising considering, but I'm not about to have you arrested and hauled out of here so just… be yourself." Velyanis shifted slightly in the chair, and slowly, she did relax. Her talons went from her knees to her lap, interlacing together as she shifted her digitigrade feet a little more forward, her shin-spurs not pressed against the human-oriented chair's seat. She shifted again, leaning back a little on the chair's back, resting against it for the first time. "See? Not so bad, is it?" Collins encouraged the Turian, who murmured something that sounded like agreement. "Now you can explain."

"I… am a Velyanis, _Vigilus_." The female began, her mandibles quirking. "My grandsire was a _Legatus Legionis_ in the Sixth _Hastati_ Legion on Taetrus." A taloned hand rose to indicate her colonial face marks, indigo parallel lines that went down the center of her silver plates, with swipes decorating her jawline and mandibles. "There was a Separatist Revolt on the colony, and the Sixth was sent to pacify, to perform a _hastist_ action upon the populous of the region. You… know what that is, yes?"

"I am from Shanxi. I know what a _hastism_ squad does." Sam replied softly. Turian Military Doctrine called for a pacification of any troubled area by announcing a complete and utter surrender of forces before occupation, demanding that everyone come out with their weapons thrown to the ground and their hands up. When the announced time had passed, a _hastism_ was performed; to the spears. The troops would move through the area, capturing the surrendered… and killing everyone else, regardless of whatever reason. Too old to move? Death. Too young? Death. Didn't immediately comply with orders? Death. Velyanis' mandibles twitched at the information.

"I apologize. I didn't know." The Turian responded, looking a little embarrassed. "My grandsire went in to pacify, but was besieged with an ambush that began with landmines, and was quickly surrounded on all sides. He and his men were forced to surrender and captured by the Separatists." Sam winced at that. What little she knew of the Hierarchy was that they took a _very_ dim view at surrendering. "When they were rescued by members of the Blackwatch, my grandsire was arrested and tried for cowardice, and likewise convicted. He was stripped of his holdings, his citizenship, and his honor." One mandible twitched, likely a grimace contained. "I had been just born when this happened, and my sire, who was still in Active Services, was likewise stripped of his holdings, his citizenship, and his honor as well. Our clan paint was removed and this," Velyanis brushed a talon against her silvered face plates, "this became what was ours, to identify who we were. I suspect that you do not know what it means and do not recognize it, but it is the mark of cowardice."

"That's… fucking bullshit." Marshal Sam Collins replied, feeling aghast at the story. Sadly, she actually believed it, knowing something of the Turians and knowing what their views were on surrendering and losing in battle. Likewise, she understood that a Turian who happened to have a famous ancestor would be looked upon with both favor and greater expectation, so it made sense that the reverse would happen as well; a natural-born pariah. And that was Nysiana Velyanis, granddaughter of a pariah, inheriting the only thing left of her family's name; their shame. "I guess that explains a few things. You seriously looked on as SAGov website for security-related jobs, knowing that you would probably have your ass-plates laughed off?"

"Yes."

"Well, the Hierarchy has it all wrong, because I think you've got to be one of the bravest sentients I've ever seen." Sam replied, and she thought she could see this female's life right in front of her; abused and neglected, denied every opportunity while kept down. _Legio_ Velyanis had endured it all, but now? Now she was sitting in _her_ office, in a Marshal's Office. "If I accept you, you will literally be the least qualified person that I will have." The Marshal began, leaning forward and putting her forearms on her desk as she clasped her hands together. "You will be a _human_ cop, and I cannot guarantee that you will have it easy at all. My species can be a bunch of assholes, though I suspect that there will be those who will give you a chance to prove yourself, which will be on you. And then there's your species… one look at you as a Marshal Deputy and you know they will not let it slide. I'm not even sure what they will do to you once they find out, and if they make a legal battle of it, likely I will lose."

"I understand. I've thought of all that already." That surprised Sam, but nodded. Yes, she didn't doubt Nysiana Velyanis had probably thought this through.

"I have no idea how to get you out of Active Service, or how to keep you from being recalled."

"I do. Already figured it out in a way that will be…" The female's flanged voice trailed off, and Sam suspected that the plan was likely the Turian equivalent of going AWOL or such, and being doubly-convicted of cowardice. At the least, humans wouldn't care of a _Turian_ conviction that this female suffered, likely just taking one look at her and judging her for her species, and not her name. That might be the whole point of why she was doing it; she literally had no chance amongst her own kind, so she was technically jumping ship and siding with another. Whatever little chance she had among mankind was what she was shooting for, no matter how narrow and difficult.

"In all fairness," Sam said slowly, looking Nysiana in her gold-green ovaloid eyes, "you might have it easier with the Asari." She was doing her best to make that sound fair and sincere, not trying to make it sound like she was brushing the Turian off. "We've got a lot of humans that hate Turians on sight, and that won't change for a few generations, no matter what you or I do. The Asari are supposedly more accepting. I don't think they'll judge you by your family history, and their species won't hate you on sight like many of mine will."

"You give sound advice, but _no_." The strength of that answer surprised Sam. "I will not be anyone's _pet_." The Turian growled, showing that despite it all, there indeed was 'stiffness to her plates' as Nihlus Kryik once said to her when it came to convictions and standing one's ground. This wasn't an act of cowardice, or the act of a coward. Nysiana Velyanis had made a choice, and she was pursuing it. Unlike Ray Johnston, who had been unsatisfied with the way his life had gone and _eventually_ came up with a way to change it without putting much more effort into it than filling out an application, Nysiana Velyanis knew that the road she was choosing would forever be an uphill one; which was better than the forever _downhill_ one the Turian Hierarchy had set before her. This was likely the first chance she got, and she didn't do it stupidly, blindly, or without recognition of some of the issues and difficulties she would face. This was the hallmark of a soul that would give it her all, proud to serve, but all she needed was one person to believe in her to give her that chance. It was like what Sam said; Velyanis would be her least qualified person, with zero law enforcement experience. The Turian had passed basic Boot Camp, and worked as a Bosom's Mate; neither were geared towards law enforcement or the Turian equivalent of the Civil Protective Services. She was a big risk, and the both of them knew it.

A rookie cop. That had Sam thoughtful.

She went ahead with the rest of the interview, asking questions that she had asked the other potentials, questions on ethics and knowledge, inquiring about her skills (sadly, Velyanis was under qualified and they both knew it, but the Turian was honest in her answers), and what her goals were. There were some differences because of species, Velyanis being the model Turian; service to all before self, belief in the righteousness of the cause, obedience to the law and to superiors. Some were worthy, but some had Sam a little less than satisfied, not wishing for someone to take advantage of what Turians were famous for doing; complying to an order regardless if they agreed to it or not, lodging a formal complaint to escape repercussions. Humanity had too many issues with that in the past, and had clauses in the Military for such things, such as the Refusal To Commit Atrocities clause, and the Right to Defend clause in which a Sailor or Marine can act to save a life even if Military Command disagreed with the protocol. Regardless, Nysiana Velyanis was fully committed to this endeavor, and despite the lack of experience in law enforcement, had made several efforts to learn the topic and what might be required of her, having done extra reading (instead of watching HV shows) and having her own questions about human ethics and scenarios. That Sam found to her liking, showing the Turian to possess a good mind and a willingness to learn and adapt.

"Let me make a call while your here, because this is, as we like to say, untested waters." Sam offered, Velyanis nodding as Sam looked up a contact number, and smiled. She knew that she'd likely use her new hire just for this reason, but not so soon. She contacted Marcus van de Walt on her desk phone and connected it to the ExtraNet for a Phone2Tool call. It rang twice.

" _Van de Walt here."_ The strongly-accented voice came over the phone in which Sam switched to speaker.

"Van de Walt, this is Marshal Collins. I have a question that's right up your alley if you have a spare moment regarding Constitutional Law."

" _So soon? Ah! The Turian candidate?"_ The man was sharp. _"While I do not have immediate access to any resources, I know the language well enough if you are asking what I think you will ask; the legality of hiring a Turian into a Systems Alliance Government position."_

"That is correct."

" _The framework of the Systems Alliance Charter was written in 2148, after the discovery of the Prothean Ruins and the Mars Archives, but before the First Contact War."_ The Afrikaner began, his tone serious. _"In the Equal Opportunity Clause towards personages, it does state that no judgment or ruling shall be made in regards to race, creed, color, religion, or orientation. Now this was never updated after the discovery of living extrasolar species, so_ legally _one_ could _hire one and use this clause to their benefit if one were to wish jumping into a political maelstrom. The main issue will be 'race', Marshal; does that mean the Human Race and its many ethnicities, or all races? While the intent was ethnic diversity, with the right lawyer, one could indeed wiggle their way through to hire, say, a Turian or an Asari if one wished to deal with the ramifications. Even if it were ruled_ afterwards _that race does mean just within the Human Race, a candidate prior to such ruling would still fall under the_ Ex Post Facto _Clause, and would still be able to hold a position, though I would assume at a lesser degree and without hope of advancement, depending on circumstances. On the other hand, if one were to find a Civil Rights Advocate who wished to put in the time and make a go of it, the ruling could be swayed to_ any _race, with legal literature added pertaining to the other races of the Galaxy. I know of Asari employees in human businesses, mostly bars and gentlemen's clubs, mind you, but there are those who would benefit from such. But for a Government Employee? Muddy waters."_

"That's about what I thought, but wanted to double check." Collins didn't pretend to know the Systems Alliance Charter inside and out, but she figured what van de Walt said was true; the literature was never included pertaining to other species in the galaxy. It was a loophole… if one were brave enough to exploit it for the right reasons. "Thank you for your assistance, van de Walt."

" _My pleasure, and…_ Legio?" That had the Turian perk up, the man obviously knowing that she was there when he was talking on speaker. _"For what it's worth? I look forward to seeing how this fairs, but you've certainly caught my attention and earned a fair amount of admiration from myself."_

"Thank you, _Civus_." The female replied, using the honorific for police officer in Common Cipritine. Sam disconnected the call and sat back in her chair, thinking it over. She wondered why she was about to do this, to stick her neck out for a female Turian she didn't know, an obvious mess that would be dropped upon her already overburdened lap. Perhaps she saw the parallels between herself and _Legio_ Velyanis, and wanted to believe that it would likewise work out as it had for Sam. Perhaps it was sympathy for her plight, one that had Collins rather furious. She recalled her conversation with Staff Marshal Torres on the Arc, about having to step up and showing a level of cooperation with the other species of the Citadel. The Marshal's Office on the Arc might not approve of this method, but… they were use to having _human_ jurisdiction on human colonies. This was different; this was the Citadel. She would have to play by different rules, and the possibility of a multispecies endeavor would bring a certain level of attention and acknowledgement that perhaps mankind wasn't nearly so 'barbaric'. "One more phone call." Collins promised as the _Legio_ nodded, seemingly interested in what was going on. If it didn't work out, at the least Velyanis would know that Collins was indeed trying for her case. The Marshal typed in the contact information and had to wait a few minutes for the connection to go through the Comms NetWork from the Citadel to Arcturus Station. When the connection was established, the phone rang once before it was picked up.

" _Torres. This better be good."_ The voice of the _Latino_ man came through, sounding a bit surly.

"Torres, it's Collins." Sam identified herself, and the temperament almost immediately improved with the sound of her voice.

" _Good to hear from you, Sam! Didya get my goodies?"_

"Yes I did. Felt like Christmas, Emilio; lots of toys to play with." There was a very male chuckle on the other line. "But I got a question for you that you're probably going to rip my head off for. Remember the inquest on the Arc?"

" _Yeah…"_ The tone was dubious, now.

"Remember how I said that I thought that being on the Citadel was going to be different because of the non-humans, and the level of cooperation I would need to bring?"

" _On a scale of one to ten, how apocalyptic are we talkin'?"_

"I'm… looking at possibly hiring a Turian."

There was dead silence on the line for the next ten seconds.

" _Technically,"_ Torres began, _"there isn't anythin' sayin' you can't. Constitution wasn't written with aliens in mind, so you won't be violatin' the Charter. Also, as a Marshal, you are_ allowed _to hire anyone you see fit to see to the duties of your Office, in which Headquarters has no say in it as long as it isn't illegal. Having said that… do you have any idea how fuckin' big this will be? 'Shitstorm' doesn't cover it, it's more like 'shit hurricane'. Media picks this up and they'll never shut up about it, good or bad. Half of the people will want your head, and the other half will want to have your back. You certainly don't think simple and small, do you?"_

"I don't think it was ever in the cards for me." Sam admitted, looking to the _Legio_ , who remained silent but attentive. "If you want, I have _Legio_ Nysiana Velyanis in here with me if you wish to talk."

" _He or she? Can't tell with the name."_

"Female." Sam shrugged at the Turian, who shook her head, indicating that it wasn't an issue.

" _I only got one question,_ Legio,"the Staff Marshal asked, his tone deadly serious. _"You join the Marshals, you stay a Marshal. You're goin' to be a Turian in a human law enforcement agency, and a pretty big one, at that. How are you goin' to conduct yourself? And think that one through before you blurt out."_ To her credit, Nysiana blinked at the question, and did seem to consider it through.

"I know what Turian society expects the answer to be," the female began, "but I've read several manuals and articles on human law enforcement, and there are some fundamental differences. The concept to 'serve and protect' is similar, so I believe that will not be an issue. My biggest hurtle is that I was born-and-raised in the Hierarchy, and I will fall upon those doctrines when I do not know what to do. I know that may cause issues, but I do not intend to waste an opportunity to prove myself by acting headstrong or with brute force. The concept of the Civil Protective Services is 'Duty, Honor, and Integrity'. I believe if there was something to aspire to, those would be what I would work towards achieving. I will also have my fellow _Civi_ to rely upon, as they will me. I believe something I read called it 'Brotherhood'. I know the path won't be easy, but I think it both worthwhile and respectable."

" _You did think it over, and I'm glad to see that you are tryin' to integrate both sets of concepts."_ The Staff Marshal replied after a moment. _"Technically, I can't stop you from hirin' a Turian, Sam. I wouldn't exactly advise it, but as you said back on the Arc;_ El Cit _is a whole new ballgame, and it needs the kind of thinkin' you possess. Heaven help me, but you're givin' me more grey hair, Sam. Knew it would happen sooner or later, just hopin'… later."_ Torres chuckled at his own joke. _"Never thought I'd see the day a Turian became a Deputy, but I never expected a Marshal to be workin' on_ El Cit _, either. I'll write up some paperwork and push it through the system discretely pertainin' to the Equal Opportunity Clause and drop names like 'Bass Reeves' and 'Jackie Robinson' if the hard-liners get too bitchy. You train her up well and good, and we'll see about what we can do concernin' a future appointment with the Marshal's Academy. This is some new age_ merde _that would be stupid to pass up on if it works out. Hierarchy ain't goin' to give us any grief with her jumpin' ship, are they?"_

"Yes, I fully expect they will." Collins replied, already sending Velyanis' records and recorded story to Torres to keep him in the loop. She suspected he would see things in a similar light.

" _Well… fuck 'em."_ That had the _Legio's_ eyes blink in surprise as her mandibles flared out for a second before clamping back to her jaw. Sam doubted anyone had ever said anything of the kind about the Hierarchy in front of a Turian before. _"And Velyanis?"_ The Turian looked to the speaker.

" _Welcome to the team."_

"I'm… in?" The female looked to Collins, her gold-green ovaloid eyes going wide as her mandibles quivered. She looked as if the rug had been swept from underneath her. Sam smiled as she stood from her desk and extended a hand, clasping wrists with the Sailor.

"Welcome aboard, Deputy Nysiana Velyanis."

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

"You went and hired a _fu…._ reaking Turian?" Master Chief Stacy Valentino had to censor her words at the counter as Marshal Sam Collins had guests over that weren't over the age of eighteen. Master Chief Stacy Valentino, Senior Chief Royce Mason, Chief Jane Shepard, Captain Alec Ryder, Doctor Ellen Ryder, and the Ryder twins were all over at Sam's apartment at Shangri-La Towers, having already given the Sailors _most_ of the tour (leaving out her bedroom) and showing Stacy and Royce their guest room, which was almost the size of the wet Container, Housing Unit they used in Therum, minus less appliances. They had stowed their gear when they had arrived and used the private bathroom and shower the guest room came with after traveling and working for the day. Jane, likewise, and placed her gear in a nearby closet, promised that sightseeing the bedroom would come later (she was aware that the bedroom would be… unusual, and not for company). The Non-Coms were sitting at the dinner table as Sam worked in her kitchen, working on making dinner for six adults and two kids with adult-sized appetites. In all fairness, she loved the thought of hosting so many guests and friends over, never having the opportunity to do so. She had an enormous apartment, so she might as well make the most of it. Dinner was to be spaghetti and meatballs with Caesar salad and bakery bread with butter. Royce had the duty of picking up booze (Sam wasn't legally old enough to buy alcohol, even on the Citadel), and had gotten everyone's selections, grumbling a little at the importation tax and inflated prices.

Dinner was coming along nicely as Collins worked her kitchen efficiently, having already read the owners' manual on her inductive stovetop heating unit, boiling noodles in water while simmering tomato sauce in a separate pan and cooking soy-protein extract hamburger on a skillet. Thankfully, the kitchen came with an equally impressive and ultramodern set of dishes, plates, glasses, cooking utensils and bake wear, so she didn't need to buy pots and pans. She really would have to thank Tela for her thoughtfulness (minus the bedroom). The salad was pre-packaged, certified fresh (unlikely, but still) as Sam dumped the contents into a colander and rinsed it off in the sink with a cold-water setting that would chill the salad slightly to give it crispness. The bread was currently in the inductive stove, baking. Along with Sam was Doctor Ellen Ryder, working the kitchen as well as she stirred the tomato sauce and added spices she brought from her own home to help liven up the meal, giving tips to Sam as they worked together. Sam had never cooked for anyone before, so she was enjoying the change, being able to cook for friends. She resolved to do so more often.

Stacy was sitting at the counter that separated kitchen from dining room, seated upon a stool that was set there for that purpose. Royce and Jane were currently embattled with Sara and Scott Ryder on the X-Box, playing some multiplayer third-person shooter where it was four versus everyone else, apparently. Alec Ryder had resolved himself to reading something on a datapad on one of the seats in the living room, catching up on something while Ellen and she worked in the kitchen making dinner.

"As well as a former Jo'berg Cop-turn-Security Consultant, and an IT Operation Security Manager from BioWare." Sam replied as she stirred the noodles in the boiling pot of water to keep them from sticking together, having learned what _al dente_ meant. "I'm also in the process of looking to hire a Sergeant from the NAPD Vice Squad, a RCMP Lieutenant, a Texas Ranger, an Interpol Inspector, and a Master Sergeant from the British 22nd Para. That gives me twelve people in my Office for the first round of hires. I also turned down a terminal lance Marine who was an idiot, a Sheriff's Deputy from Elysium with a history of excessive force, and a Citadel Mall Cop who was way too timid and needed hand-holding. ONI has already given me the prelims on everyone for their background checks, and I think I really lucked out with the first batch. The worst thing that I saw out of them were collection notices, but nothing overtly bad or excessive in amount. Hell, Bioware was making more than the both of us put together, and technically you, Royce, and Jane are pulling double paychecks."

"We're really calling him 'Bioware'?" Val replied, getting an eyebrow up as the blonde woman looked over at the food, taking a sniff. "Definitely smells better than what you'll find in a Galley, that's for sure. But back to the Turian issue." Sam knew that if anyone were going to have a problem, it would be the Master Chief, a Shanxi Vet and a survivor of _Operation: Repensium_. While she wasn't exactly racist, like some amongst humanity were, she fully admitted that she didn't play well with Turians, something about an incident a few years back that she didn't talk about. "Why?"

"Stacy, look where we're at." Sam stopped stirring the noodles to look at the Texan, reminding her of their location. "The Citadel was the first place that species came together for cooperation and mutual benefit. It may not have always worked well, and there are issues, but we aren't in open warfare with almost a dozen species seeking to kill one another. That alone puts things in perspective." Stacy made a noise at that, but didn't interrupt further. "The First Contact War notwithstanding, sooner or later we're going to have to learn to play nice with the others, the Turians included. Likewise, they will have to do the same. Someone has to make the first move, someone has to take that risk and give it a chance. _Legio_ Nysiana Velyanis came to us with the aspirations of wanting to be a cop, and though she has a different perspective on things than we do, her answers were both satisfactory and also showed someone who truly wishes to commit. The Hierarchy has basically blacklisted her family because of something her grandfather did, and she had to deal with that shame all of her life. She wishes to show that she is someone of worth and honor, and honestly, don't we all?" Ellen _hmm'ed_ at that, not having said a word during the exchange. "She might have to turn her back on her government and her species in order to do so. And she's fully aware of that."

"Hmm." The Master Chief folded her arms as she sat back a little on the stool, not completely satisfied, but at least considering it. "So you want to give off the impression that we're hiring _aliens_? Sorry, _non-humans_." The Non-Com was most certainly feeling her oats. "We're practically sitting in the middle of a civil insurrection because of the C-SEC Turians, and you go and hire one of them?"

"First off, she isn't C-SEC. She's a Sailor." Collins corrected Val with a look that wasn't brooking insubordination. "She's a Bosum's Mate, Third Class, and a Tier-Three Citizen of the Hierarchy, kept there since Boot Camp. Her job is sanitation on the Orlop Deck of a Dreadnaught, so figure out what that means." Stacy's mouth twitched at that, but said nothing. "She's a pariah to her own kind, and her only way out, the only way she'll ever succeed… was to come to us. Can you imagine how that must have felt for her? She threw away pride and honor for respect and worth, Val. She's going to be working in an office surrounded by _aliens_ , non- _Turians_ , and she's already made the effort to try and learn about us and our culture, to try and fit in. Would you be so quick to turn a potential ally into a permanent enemy?"

Stacy did something peculiar; she did a double-take.

"That's… not the first time I heard that." The Master Chief replied softly, looking at something that wasn't in the kitchen, but a memory. Sam frowned as she wondered if she might have truly upset her friend. "I… was a part of an operation involving… your Blackwatch friend." Collins realized that Stacy was referring to _Centurion Magnus_ Nihlus Kryik, someone they both knew to be a Agent of the Council; a SPECTRE. Ellen was within earshot, so the Non-Com was keeping it discreet. "You aren't the first, you know? Fifth or sixth, I think. At least that I'm aware of." Sam realized what she was talking about; potential SPECTRE candidates. "I was selected by this Turian Cabalist that had a _huge_ chip on his shoulder when it came to us _monkeys_ ," the racial slur was filled with venom, "and I was joined by our mutual friend." Stacy's eyes touched upon Ellen Ryder, who was at least trying to pretend to ignore the conversation. "The mission was a damn joke; we were dropped on Taetrus to hunt down this Separatist Leader who had kidnapped some colonial Primarch's family member for ransom, and had bombs or whatnot stashed amongst a small urban center to detonate if he saw the Hierarchy coming. So they sent… us." The Non-Com leaned back in her stool, looking a little lost. "That was worse than Shanxi, honestly. On a Turian planet filled with Separatists Forces, having to rely upon this racist Turian Biotic and his protégé, only for the Cabalist to disappear on us, and I found myself fighting back-to-back with this Blackwatch member I just couldn't bring myself to trust." The blonde woman shook her head, obviously reliving the memory. "We were surrounded, outnumbered and outgunned, just me and him. Couldn't trust him, but I trusted him to watch my back, because there was nobody else." The Navy MP shook her head. "We were in this… I think it was the back of a hover truck of some kind, trying to buy ourselves a few minutes of respite when he said those words to me. Not _verbatim_ , mind you, but pretty damn similar. I remember my response; cruel and uncalled for.

"I told him I would never be friends with a fucking Raptor."

Val looked off to one side, looking towards the living room but not seeing it, her face forlorn. Sam could see pain in that look both personal and emotional, the survivor in her that had overcome almost certain death at the hands of an Imperial militant race having lived long enough to see the shadows of that horrible war slowly receding, time marching forward while she lived with the echoing nightmares of those times. It was like what Sam herself said at the inquest; the older generation might not be able to let go of that fear and hatred upon discovering that not only were they not alone in the galaxy, but a highly-advanced race was seeking to obliterate them. Stacy was obviously struggling with it. The younger woman set down her ladle and moved towards the Master Chief and pulled her into an embrace, holding her close. The blonde woman's hands slowly pulled her in as well as she buried her face into Sam's shoulder, her body quaking from contained grief and rage, the memories that never truly died filling her once more. Sam would never fully understand what Stacy must have survived on Shanxi, though hearing Ryder's account pertaining to her discovery had been just a pale imitation of the struggle. Stacy had never spoken about it, and Collins was aware that she somehow earned a Navy Cross during the operation, the second-highest award in the military. But at what cost did she pay to make it out? What had she seen? Who had she buried? Stacy took a deep breath and composed herself, lifting her head up to wipe away at a tear that hadn't left her eye, looking a little less grief-stricken.

"Better?" Sam asked tentatively.

"For now, but never, honestly." The blonde woman replied, looking to her. "Nihlus saved my life that day. And I probably didn't deserve it. We were left behind and betrayed, surrounded and engaged on all sides, and… he could have thrown me to the wolves and left me there to complete that mission, to find his mentor and leave the monkey to die. But… he didn't. Said my candidacy was… incorrect, that I was selected inappropriately, not because I wasn't good mind you, but because my attitude wouldn't have been appropriate for the kinds of missions that I might be asked to take. And the one who picked me _knew_ that. I was… a patsy, a way to make humanity look bad by picking someone like myself and dooming me to failure. Nihlus stood for the right thing, could have left me to die but instead chose to stand by my side in the worst kind of hell. The mission ended in failure, sadly; the Separatists had long since executed that Turian before we even arrived, using the threat and the bombs as a means to play the Hierarchy into their little fucking game. The Cabalist tried to pin it on me with the Council, but… Agent Kryik was the one who came forward with the truth, and told them that I was a good example for my species, and credited me with a good deal more praise than I deserved. He never mentioned how… how I almost abandoned him there, how I never just went with what he said, arguing with him almost every step of the way, calling him every name in the book. Didn't even know his full name until after _they_ showed up on Therum." Stacy smiled a wintery smile as she shook her head. "He was right, I never should have even been considered." She looked to Sam, giving her a long look. "What _we_ need is someone who can look past all that, someone that can be human, but also look past being just that. Seeing the value of a person, not just their apparent worth. Proud of you, kiddo." The older woman tipped her head to kiss Sam's forehead, giving her her benediction. "I will give the Turian the benefit of the doubt, and make sure she's trained and qualified the same as the others. Might be interesting trying to find a Marshal's uniform that might fit her. Or a hat."

"Hadn't thought of that." Sam admitted as she smiled at Stacy, glad that they were able to resolve the issue concerning Nysiana Velyanis. Collins was well aware that hiring a Turian would be controversial, and Val would make herself a sounding board for those who would have nothing to do with the sons and daughters of Palaven. Honestly, at the least Stacy was rather reasonable in her feelings towards Turians, having fought in and survived Shanxi, and then this other incident that she had admitted to where it sounded like another Turian SPECTRE had tried using Val like a scapegoat. Prejudice was going to run rife concerning the Turian race, but the only way to attempt to heal that rift was to attempt to repair some of that damage done, to show people that it was possible. She was a little shocked to hear Stacy admit that she was once considered to become a SPECTRE, and understood why she hadn't admitted to it before if the mission had been such a fiasco and the Non-Com hadn't been proud of how she had handled the situation. "I am glad to call you friend, Stacy, to have you by my side. Perhaps this time we can do it right."

* * *

Author's Note: I got pretty high-tech for this… so some expos!

OLED - Your monitor… as clear as glass and as thin as paper. Plus, it rolls up!

Haptic User Interface - a Gesture Recognition Device in which the keyboard is merely a hologram, and the computer calculates where you type.

Inductive Field Information Transfer - wireless information transfer based off of electromagnetic fields, not radio signals (see WiFi)

Immersion Video/Movies (ImmersVids) - ME CANON, Immersion Videos are like Virtual Reality Movies in which you watch from the POV of the central character. The movie _Strange Days_ has this as a plot point in which the main character sells illegal ImmerseVids of deaths, murders, and drug-use. I will probably use this as the ME version of bootleg video piracy.

Q-Machine - Quantum Computing Machine. Involves electrons and micro-computing processors.

SuperCray - This… shows how old I am. The Cray was a supercomputer in the Nineties that was used to process Virtual Reality Simulators and… computer graphics.

Personal Area Networks - Technically, your Smartphone has one, as does any 'signal' device connected to a Network. If a device has biometrics involved (i.e., a fingerprint lock or optical recognition) then it remembers the access… as does anyone that takes these profiles. Read/Watch any Phillip K. Dick story, especially _Minority Report,_ and _Imposter_. #NowhereToRunNowFucker

BlockChain Memory - what 'coin' uses; each transaction is a separate and secured block of memory that cannot be altered, only added to. This works great not only for financial transactions without the use of a government sponsor (like coin) but I see police using this for Chain of Evidence tags (as breaking it invalidates evidence if someone forgets to properly sign in/out evidence).

CyberLink System - My own creation, but a Network that works with not only area access, but personal user interface. If you touch a datapad, it logs you in. If you open a door, your OmniTool remembers. This will be prevalent through the story, as this is primarily a police story. More in line to what the Patriots were doing in Metal Gear Solid 4, but without personal control of the user.

Automated Virtual Intelligence Network Assistant (AVINA) - Yes… her. This will probably be the biggest CANON change I will make in the foreseeable future, turning a holographic directory service into a SmartCity Network. Imagine Traffic Control, Dispatch, Emergency Services, Public Transit Authority, Power Grid, light schedules and anything else that runs a town or city (and there are a host of departments that do that IRL) run by one automated service… that's AVINA. Think… Cortana from Halo, but with less personality and rampancy.

Stand Alone Complex - Not even an internal Network, but seriously just a computer with no extra data connection. No wifi, no phone jack… information is either imputed or inserted through hard copy (like thumb drives and CD/DVD's)

Crime Index - This is a Real Life thing you can look up on the internet. The statistics I used are very real, too; these are the reports of Northern Manhattan for the month of June, 2017. I changed one (Grand Larceny Auto became Grand Larceny) and combined two (Shooting Victim and Shooting Incidence) and turned it into weapons charges. Transit crimes became transient crimes (because all the vehicles on the Citadel are self-driven by AVINA, so now it's unregistered humans, i.e. Illegal immigrants) and housing crimes became specifically Domestic Violence instead of the big three (B+E, Burglary, and Property Damage). There are, btw, about 15,000 Officers in the NYPD alone, not to include other departments (NYSP, Harbor Patrol, Sheriff's, and the federal-level Officers and those who guard the UN building. NYC has a population of some 5 million, so… damn.

Sisyphus - The King fated to push the boulder up the hill, only for it to roll down the other side so he must do so again. Hey, he cheated Death twice, pissed off Zeus, locked up Thanatos, made Ares mad, and slighted Hades. I'm surprised they didn't set him on fire eternally.

Surprisingly, the Wall Street Journal is a great place to look for jobs, but they are certainly 'high-tier' jobs. If you want to be a Broker, an exec, or have a Masters, this is where you go.

I had no idea that Interpol was _not_ an supranational police force. I always thought they were Europe's FBI. Nope, they are _liaisons_ for international law enforcement agencies when criminals go across borders and the FBI needs to contact some jurisdiction in… say, Milan, Italy. And need a translator. And an idea who pulls jurisdiction and lead. Huh. Don't we have the _Internet_ for that now? They do, however, provide great quantities of intel dealing with international crime, intelligence, and tracking. Just like Europol (who, again, don't actually arrest anybody. Huh.)

I like making Shepard have a hero, and making up the legend of Alec Ryder is fun. I know I would geek out if I had met Neil Armstrong when he was still alive or Buzz Aldrin.

Asperger's Syndrome - A sociodevelopmental condition that will probably not exist in the future, as it is now considered a sub-strait of Autism Spectrum Disorder. Asperger's is like mild Autism in which the person shows high-function cognitive capabilities, but misses social cues (crossing my arms over my chest while scowling means I'm mad) and can follow intensely in a subject (like rattling off stats and scores to a favored sports team that would have even rabid fans amazed).

The Green Bit MultiScan527g is a Real Life device, and the description I give comes from its website. It didn't come with a price, so you know that means it's expensive as shit. Some of the others were several thousand dollars, but this one was a 'Contact Manufacturer' for pricing. Ouch.

The IntegenX RapidHIT 200 is also a Real Life device, with accurate description. It's about three years old, now, and costs about a quarter of a million dollars. Expensive? A full lab requires a Spectroanalizer, DNA Sequencing Machine, and someone with a Bachelor's Degree. You've seen CSI, right? How expensive is that set-up? The RapidHIT was designed to fit in a squad car, like in the trunk, for investigative purposes. Damn. This thing works by taking a swab, sticking swab in a plastic cartridge, sticking cartridge in, and then activating it. There are some half a _million_ DNA profiles in backlog because of the FBI's swamped lab, and they can't turn them out fast enough. Want a great paying job? Bachelor's Degree in Forensic Science, Lab Technician… $60,000 a year. You'll never run out of work. And everyone needs them.

Law Enforcement Firearms - Ever wondered why the .38 and the 9mm were 'the' standard round for Police for the longest time? These rounds have little chance of passing through walls in houses and hitting someone else in another room, dry wall, insulation, and framework able to slow/stop the rounds from having an accidental injury/death. That's why cops don't carry .45's or the Dirty Harry Magnums.

Hillard Heinzte is a real life Private Security Risk Management Consultation Firm based in America.

In real life, hiring a Police Officer takes _weeks_ of work; background investigation (not a check), psychological profile, several interviews and tests, not to mention usually having a Degree in Criminal Justice or Psychology, and then Academy for a few to several months, depending on the jurisdiction. And that's just a town or a city. A major metropolitan area, like the NYPD, or a federal-level agency, like the FBI or ATFE? Double the requirements and anal-ness of everything.

I totally loved tearing BioWare/EA to pieces. Galaxy of War was a game in Mass Effect, mentioned by a Salarian game store employee, based upon the Multiplayer version of Mass Effect 3. And yes, I did the Red/Blue/Green option, and chose Red. Fuck you back, BioWare!

Moses Brothers' Self-Defense Frontier Model B - This is Captain Mal Reynolds gun, the official model name from the _Firefly_ series.

Boatswain/Bosom's Mate - The Navy Maintenance, Sanitation, and Janitorial Services position. I know it sounds demeaning, but this is an important job, as maintenance on a ship filled with a million moving parts is incredibly important, and waste and debris will affect machinery, causing it to overheat and fault. Plus cleaning is a part of safety regulations, as oil and corrosion can cause slips, falls, cuts, and diseases.

Nysiana Velyanis - It's actually be a while since I made an Original Character that wasn't a minor character, Sam Collins actually having been created some two years ago for my 'Hale/Meer Chronicles', a human cop that was to be added onto the Normandy for investigative and intelligence purposes. I never actually got to use her, but I liked the idea of having a real cop (Garrus, despite being a Detective, uses a sniper rifle? Detectives don't use sniper rifles). Nysiana Velyanis will be my first major OC in a good long time, and will be as used as, say, Stacy Valentino and Royce Mason. Considering she's a Turian in a human law enforcement agency, yeah that's big.

US Marshal Bass Reeves - The first African-American Marshal of the United States Marshal Services, serving in 1870. Considering what popular and public opinion was during those times, Bass Reeves must have had a hell of a time being a black cop right after the Civil War, working in western Arkansas/Indian Territory. He did not know how to read or write, but is credited with thousands of arrests, and he legally shot and killed fourteen men. Bass Reeves, btw, was born a slave, and became a Marshal during a time when I'm fairly certain that African-Americans probably _couldn't_ be anything but menial labor or something similar at the time. Black doctors and lawyers? No, probably not, save a _very_ few such as Fredrick Douglass.

Wait? Stacy was a SPECTRE candidate? While Canon mentions that Captain David Edward Anderson was considered back in 2166 (See Mass Effect: Revelations), there is a decisive seventeen-year break in between then and Commander Shepard in 2183. If the humans gained an Embassy in 2165, and a potential SPECTRE recruit in '66, then what of the remaining years? There is _NO_ information leading to the fact that there weren't others, merely that Shepard was the first 'public' SPECTRE, according to Al-Jaliani (and we know how credible she is). There are others besides Stacy and Captain Anderson, and they will be mentioned later on, and why it didn't work out.

So… is Sam going to be the first Human SPECTRE in this series, before Shepard? Stay tuned, true believers. I've actually got this covered. And don't outguess. It's more fun.


	4. Human Lives Matter, III

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM! You know who THEM are! FrostBioEAWareBite…_

 **Apartment 2905, 1040 Block Mid-Wards, Human Wards, Zakera Arm, The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula, June 16 2175**

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The Return Of The Smexy! NSFW!

* * *

Alliance Federal Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins woke up the next morning on a Saturday, a traditional day off for most Government employees. Laying in her bed in her bedroom, she looked over next to her to see Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard laying next to her, the Non-Com already awake and looking upon her, a smile of satisfaction upon the redhead's lips as her green eyes traced over Sam, one of her hands slipping onto the soft skin of her abdomen, tracing the slight muscular bulges of her abdominal muscles with a gentle fingertip. Sam smiled at the show of affection as Jane leaned over to give a kiss, soft lips pressing into her own tenderly as the redhead pulled away a minute later, still smiling at her.

"Sleep well, babe?" Shepard asked, her tone mirthful as her eyebrows juked up twice to indicate a lot more than a seemingly innocuous question. Much to Sam's surprise, Jane had rather liked the bedroom when she saw it for the first time last night. She had absolutely fallen head-over-heels in regards to the strange anatomically shaped bed representing a part of a female's anatomy. Sam hadn't slept in it yet (she couldn't bring herself to) but had done so last night in Jane's arms. Surprisingly, the bed was actually very comfortable, the mattress made of some warming gel that not only reached a temperature close to the user's own, but slightly conformed to the body's natural curves and shape, increasing the chance of a comforting sleep. It was really quite exquisite.

"The parts that I slept, yes." Sam replied with a smile of her own, remembering Jane's enthusiasm when the young woman admitted that she hadn't even slept in the bed yet. Shepard had gotten rather playful after that comment. She was still tracing Sam's abs with a finger, loping around each in figure eights, moving up, then down, and then to the other column, repeating the process. "Are you… trying to seduce me?" Sam looked at where Jane was stroking her skin as the redhead's hand slipped along the crevice in between her abs, dipping towards her navel and slowly sliding downward.

"Mmmmmaybe." Shepard replied teasingly, her eyebrows twitching upward again, her playful grin turning wolfish as Sam shivered when Jane's fingers found a sensitive spot and slowly began to exploit it. "Pretty certain Stacy and Royce are already up and moving, so we don't have to worry _too_ much about waking up the neighbors." The younger woman gave off a light gasp as Jane lightly pinched the spot she had been focusing on, kneading it gently.

"You're… incorrigible." Collins forced out as she shivered, feeling a gentle aching throb slowly growing in the pit of her belly, reacting to Jane's rather obvious advances.

"It's a talent, I'm sure." Jane leaned over and nuzzled Sam's head, getting the younger woman to move her head over so the redhead could kiss the sensitive skin along her neck and shoulder. The woman, damn her, knew what she was doing. "I didn't hear you complaining last night about it."

"Not complaining now… either." Sam let off in-between soft breathy gasps as she felt the ache in her growing pleasantly, feeling soft lips alternating between kissing and nibbling on her sensitive neck while she felt Jane's fingers slowly sliding downward, the traveled path eased by lubricating fluids as Sam let off a moan as fingers found their way into her, pushing past soft lips and brushing against sensitive flesh. "You… are a brute, Jannie."

"Are you asking for me to _be_ a brute?" The redhead whispered into her ear with a very satisfied tone as Sam whimpered slightly as the fingers slowly worked their way in deeper, the aching feeling they brought growing stronger the deeper they went, sliding against the responsive walls inside of her as Sam mewled with sweet agony. "Because I _can_ be a brute, if you like." Jane demonstrated by pressing her fingers in deeper, brushing against a very sensitive spot deep inside of her, making Sam shiver as her breath caught in her throat. The ache was growing fierce within her as Jane began to slide her fingers in and out slowly, rubbing against the sensitive flesh, stimulating the nerves that would bring her towards what she was craving; ecstasy. "I want to hear you moan and call out my name." The redhead whispered into her ear as she nibbled on her lobe, making Sam pant as Jane's hand continued to work inside of her, slipping in and out of her as she curled her fingers deep inside of her to bring her aching desire closer to fulfillment. "I want to feel you cave in and submit to me." Sam whimpered, feeling the muscles deep inside of her growing taunt, squeezing against her throbbing aching flesh, the intensity building in crescendo. "I want to make you _mine_."

"Jannie… _please_ …" The younger woman moaned, her eyes closing tight as she fought to keep the pressure growing within her contained, the fierce need crying for release denied for as long as possible. She relished the intensity that threatened to burst forth from her, the throbbing pressure that was consuming her making her feel lightheaded and euphoric. The carnal craving for satisfaction was trying to win over her want for that peak of physical want, to hold herself there as the redhead brushed her fingers along the wet, aching channel inside of her, tightening upon her flanges in expectation and fulfillment. "Please! Please… pleaseplease _please_ …" She couldn't hold it back anymore as Sam opened her eyes and looked right into the emerald orbs of the woman she loved, gasping for what she wanted, begging for her lover to fulfill her.

"If you insist." Jane smiled as she thrusted her hand deep inside of her hard and furious, the tips of her fingers hammering against that sensitive spot deep inside of her, sending powerful waves of unfiltered excitement and stimulation throughout her, her body reacting to the brute act by arching her back and her pent-up desires exploding from within her with a force that sent her into a dizzying gasp of deep satisfaction and electrified completeness as Jane slowly worked her hand against Sam's twitching vaginal muscles to milk her orgasm to its last aching conclusion as the younger woman slowly relaxed, sinking back onto the mattress as she looked up into Jane's eyes, feeling content as she laid there, sweaty and somewhat covered by her own orgasmic secretions. "I can't get enough of you, you know?" Jane said softly as she brushed her lips against Sam's, kissing her softly. "I feel like I've finally found what I've been missing all this time but never knew. Someone worth having, someone worth working to better myself, to be better for."

"Then I am glad." Collins replied, feeling exhausted but energized as she slipped her arms around the Petty Officer, the need to feel closer to her strong. "I am glad that you feel this strongly about someone, and that I am that person. We should always strive to do better for ourselves, to be better. And I like that I can share that with someone who can recognize the effort and success."

"I know what you mean." Jane murmured as she looked into Sam's eyes, those magnificent green eyes looking at her with personal satisfaction, not just physical. "I was thinking about the Military Academy before, how I wanted to go because I wanted to be a Commissioned Officer, to feel like I was accomplishing something greater in my life. While I still feel that way, now I _want_ that challenge because I want to prove myself, to reach that obstacle and defeat it. I want to do it for myself, but I also want to be able to share it, to have someone appreciate my efforts and struggles to accomplish my goals. And I know you would, and I know that you will be doing the same, working hard to make this all work out." Jane gestured to their surroundings, indicating the Human Wards. "You have the harder path, Samantha, but I like to think that I help by making that path just a little bit better and brighter by having someone there to share it with, to encourage you, to hold you during the tough days. I may not be as smart as you are, but I know that even someone as dedicated as yourself needs someone to help them through it all 'lest it be a lonely life."

"Well said, and thank you." Sam lifted her head to kiss Jane, smiling as she did so. "Now we need to take a shower. I know I smell like morning sex. But first?" The younger woman gave off a grin as she turned Jane over so that she was lying on her back. "I'm going to be returning the favor." The brunette looked the redhead in the eyes as she lowered herself downward on her body, sliding her head in-between Jane's thighs.

"You are such a fucking tease, Samantha." The Petty Officer replied as her voice petered off into a self-satisfied moan of pleasure.

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Author's Note: WARNING - These next couple of sections are not pleasant. They will deal with mentions of torture and sadism, and an individual suffering immense pain.

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino sat at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee at her elbow and a Daily News-subscription datapad in her right hand as she read through the going-ons of Earth Alliance Space as she usually did in the mornings whenever she was on a boat and not much else was going on. She mostly ignored the claptrap of sensational media fucktards spewing drivel to the masses, showing just how ignorant reporters and staff writers could be to any concept that wasn't related journalistically, often sounding like a bunch of whiny children that hammered upon the 'big topics' of scandals and soundbites while missing out on important details.

The politics page was mostly crap (some EarthGov Terra Firma Party Senator opened his or her mouth and everyone cringed), and the news out in the colonies was, as always, fifty-fifty on the good news/bad news scale. It seemed like Watson was finally able to support cyanobacteria outside in the environment in the low-pressure, low-oxygen planet that was both mineral-rich and contained dense metallic ores such as iridium and uranium for mining, while Benning was once again having another civil unrest fiasco. Stacy was rather glad she wasn't in the Marshal's Office on that planet.

She selected one story while taking a sip from her Kuerig-brewed coffee about the case against Garm Kanador Jor'raddah, known as Jor'raddah the Jackal. A soundbit at the trial espoused how Garm had refused to recognize the legitimacy of the Systems Alliance Court of Laws, like that would have done anything. There was, interestingly enough, about a dozen prosecuting attorneys from that many governments each trying the Jackal at the same time, the Alliance hosting the trail with three separate Justices to preside for fairness and legality, one being an Alliance Judge, another being a Hierarchy Justice, and the last being a Citadel-appointed Asari Judicial Councilor. The Jackal didn't stand a chance in hell as his defense attorney, a Hegemony-appointed Defense Representative, objected to every charge with a slue of racial epitaphs and denial of basic rights towards his client, as if anyone were trying to starve or torture the Jackal.

The trial was a big-ticket item on the news, probably in all sectors of Council Space. The Turian Prosecuting Attorney had been recorded in saying how interested he would be discovering how to 'peel' a Batarian like a fruit, his mandibles twitching psychotically. The Elcor representative from the Dekuunan Confederacy had a rather laughable comment as well; he was ( _with all honesty:_ ) going to crush the life out of the Jackal. And that was a species that was normally considered pacifists! Stacy looked up why and found out that the Jackal had killed an Elcor cow he had been holding hostage. That was a big no-no. Even Krogan were smart enough not to mess with Cows, knowing fully well that Bulls were larger and stronger than even they were.

There was an electronic knock on the door.

Stacy looked around and sighed, seeing that, typical lazy Saturday morning-style, she was the only one up and about. Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason was actually looking for gyms to join for both himself and her, and Marshal Sam Collins and Petty Officer Jane Shepard had yet to leave 'their' room; Stacy didn't need a star map to figure that one out. The blonde woman sighed as she stood up from the stool, taking both datapad and coffee cup with her, figuring that it was probably Captain Alec Ryder at the door, about the only other person who knew where Sam lived.

Stacy looked at the holographic monitor that served as a peephole viewer, and was shocked to see a Turian at the door. A female one, at that. Carrying what appeared to be the Turian version of a Navy SeaBag…

"The _Legio_." Valentino realized, seeing the Haliat Armory Light Legionus Armor that all enlisted crewmembers wore on Hierarchy ships, the medium versions given to their Non-Coms, and the heavier ones to their Officers. She had seen the Turian Sailor in the lobby waiting for her interview appointment, and Stacy had done nothing but stare daggers at the Turian during the wait, never saying a word to her. Surprisingly, Jane had actually talked to the Turian for a few minutes, some make-nice conversation that showed that Jane didn't necessarily have issues with Turians; Batarians were her passionate hate, and Jane likely would date a Turian before ever making nice with a Batarian. Stacy wasn't sure how the _Legio_ found Sam's apartment, or why she was here. Perhaps Collins had invited her? Val made a judgment call, remembering her conversation with Sam the previous night, and opened the door.

There stood _Legio_ Nysiana Velyanis, looking as if she had gotten the absolute shit kicked out of her.

"Aw, fuck." Stacy could see the Turian trying to muscle through the pain, her alien eyes wincing as her limbs twitched and spasmed, obviously injured. Several of her plates looked cracked and deformed, and some of the softer tissues that the plates didn't protect were discolored and swollen in places. The Turian didn't say a word; her eyes downcast as she held onto her bag, pride the only thing keeping her standing.

"I… don't know where else to go, _Centurion._ " The female whispered, her flanged voice tinged with pain, unable to look Val in the eye. She had gotten the shit kicked out of her, and Stacy had a nasty suspicion who and why. The tone she had was filled with shame, Turians not likely to come to a superior for aid and succor; to do so was to admit defeat and/or failure. The fact that she had was saying a great deal, and none of it good.

"Get in, _Legio._ I'll scare up a First Aid Kit." The Master Chief said, standing to one side as she jerked her thumb towards the interior of the apartment. Velyanis merely nodded meekly as she entered into the apartment, looking around with widened eyes at the opulent domicile. "Let me get your bag, and you sit in one of those stools by the Galley, and _stay put_." The female had addressed her as _Centurion_ ; a low-ranking Officer in the Hierarchy. Technically, Stacy would be considered a _Tesserarius_ in the Hierarchy, a Guard Commander and third-in-command of a _Centuor_ or a _Diviso_ in the Navy. If the female was going to address her as a superior, then Stacy would make sure that she wouldn't do anything to get herself injured any further. Velyanis unshouldered her bag, wincing as she did so, Stacy taking it and setting it by the door as Nysiana _limped_ towards the kitchen, limping badly at that. Stacy knew what that limp represented.

They had broken her spurs; a Turians' Achilles heel.

Stacy immediately went and slid herself under the Turian's arm, hearing the Sailor wince as the Master Chief helped her towards the stool, her mind racing. They reached the piece of furniture, and the _Legio_ audible sighed in relief as she sat on the stool, still holding herself in a way that indicated that she must have been very badly injured. Mother of God, but Stacy knew what they did to her.

It had been a _Prodiderat_ sentencing and execution.

"Sam! Jane! Here, quick!" Stacy hollered as she looked to the Turian female, knowing what might have been done to her. Gone was the purple face-paint of her clan (though as she understood it, it wasn't her family clan), leaving her barefaced; honorless. Several of her faceplates were obviously deformed from strikes and beatings, some chipped and others fractured from the blunt force trauma, likely from the buttstocks of Elanus Risk Control Services' M-15 Vindicators. She was cradling one taloned hand close to her body, holding it palm-up and in a way that probably meant that her hand was broken somewhere. But that's not what scared Val. Even the broken spur wasn't the worst thing she could think of.

Velyanis's eyes were drooping, and Stacy had to catch her before she passed out and fell onto the floor, her injuries too severe, having pushed herself too hard and too far to the one possible safe location she knew of. She must have gone from her post on a Turian Hierarchy vessel to a Citadel Public Transportation Authority Lot to rent an Aircar, gone to the Human Wards, and ascertained where Marshal Collins had lived and _walked_ there with broken spurs and Lord knew what else. Nysiana… had to be the toughest son of a bitch Stacy could think of. Both Collins and Shepard came out of their room, both hastily dressed with their hair wet from a shower interrupted when Sam's eyes went wide at the sight of the slumped Turian being held by Stacy.

"It's _Legio_ Nyisana Velyanis, Sam. They hung her by her fucking _spurs_ and beat her with rifles. We need medical attention, someone with knowledge in Turian physiology that isn't a part of the Hierarchy. An Asari or a Salarian in one of the Citadel Hospitals might suffice, but…" The Texan could feel her heart quake in pain and rage at the thought of what they might have done to the Turian.

"They might have peeled her, Sam. They might have ripped off her plates."

"Oh, fuck…" Shepard gasped, covering his shocked face with both of her hands as Collins went pale at the thought. Stacy doubted either one of them had ever seen such an act, but probably knew of it. Stacy, sadly, had seen it before. "What can we do?" Jane asked immediately as she went to Stacy's side, helping her hold up the female.

"Leave her armor on. It's… all we can do besides keeping her from getting further injuries." The Master Chief replied as the Petty Officer nodded, looking at Nysiana's ruined face and biting back words. "Get a washcloth with some water, and at the least we can help her keep cool. Turian bodies heat up when their injured, and they can burn out from it if not careful. She walked here on broken legs." Shepard's face fell at the sound of that. "Carry her to a couch, and we'll prop her up as best we can."

"Hierarchy?" Shepard asked, looking to Stacy with alarmed eyes, and got a nod from the Texan. "Fucking _bastards_."

"Hey, are you anywhere on or near the Citadel?" Sam was talking to a communicator piece linked to her Apple Corps iTool, obviously not calling a clinic, Stacy realized. She was calling someone else. "Look, I need a favor, and it's a big one." The Marshal looked over as the two women carried the _Legio_ onto a living room couch, easing her as gently as they could onto the cushions, the unconscious Turian letting off a slight moan of pain as they did. "I need a Doctor who is knowledgeable in Turian Emergency Trauma Care, probably surgery as well. _NOT_ a Hierarchy Barber-Surgeon; an Asari or a Salarian will do if need be." Stacy took the wet cloth that Jane had dashed off to get after laying the Turian down on the couch, and the Master Chief placed it along the _Legio's_ exposed neck, wincing at the sight of her cowl, which was beaten and deformed under the soft cloth of her armor. She was actually surprised Nysiana had her mandibles still, though both looked discolored.

"Look, I've got a Turian here who is very seriously injured, and she limped _here_ because she thought this might be the only safe place she knew, and I'm practically a Goddamn stranger to her. She's in my care and protection, and I don't give a shit about whether or not if its proper or legal in the Hierarchy Code of Honor or not, Nihlus. _I… Will… Not… Stand… For… It._ " Sam was in full Marshal Mode, her voice hard and commanding, not to be fucked it. Velyanis whimpered in her unconscious state and Stacy turned her attention back to her patient, seeing those beaten and fractured faceplates shrivel and wince in pain. The Texan steeled herself for the worst as she took the uninjured hand of Nysiana Velyanis into her own and held it.

"Hold on, kiddo." Stacy whispered to the Turian, who was blissfully blacked out.

"You're amongst friends, now."

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Half an hour of waiting is what it took for _Centurion Magnus_ Nihlus Kryik to arrive with an Asari Physician pushing a small hover lift with supplies upon its platform when the electronic knock came. Not once had Master Chief Stacy Valentino left the side of _Legio_ Nyisana Velyanis, who had regained semi-coherent consciousness within the past minute or so. Senior Chief Royce Mason had returned already when Marshal Sam Collins contacted him, asking him to return, the Non-Com taking one look at the injured Turian and his face going murderous. Petty Officer Jane Shepard, likewise, was at the Turian's side, speaking soothing words to her when Nysiana came to, whimpering when she had awoken, not knowing where she was and unable to identify who was kneeling above her. Jane was brushing the softer part of Nysiana's skull behind her short fringe, trying to calm her down and reassure her that she was not in any danger, using a cool cloth to dab at her overheated soft flesh. There was literally nothing else they could do for the female Turian other that to keep her as cool and as comfortable as possible in her grievous state. Velyanis was merely murmuring and babbling, not making much sense as she cried out once with some memory of what happened to her.

"Sam." Kryik entered into the domicile when Collins let in her new visitors, the Turian Blackwatch Commando's eyes going immediately to the couch that the Turian was on, moving towards the patient. "I brought Hospitallar Shayana B'mora, an Asari Doctor specializing in several species. She is one of us, she can be trusted." Stacy knew what that meant; the Asari was a SPECTRE Doctor. Kryik had come through.

"Good." Collins replied, her voice tense and angry, her fury caged but still waiting to be let loose. "Stacy mentioned a _Prodiderat_ , and… we're afraid someone might have peeled some of her plates off. We don't know what to do."

"Goddess." Hospitallar B'mora shook her head, her turquoise face going shocked. "Let me have a few moments to pull out the necessary equipment and supplies for such a thing, but you should know…" The Asari looked over to Velyanis, and then to Sam. "There will be little I _can_ do save prevent infection and further injury. Let me treat her first and then I shall go over options of treatment and recovery if that is the case."

"Thank you, Doctor." Sam bowed her head for a moment, stepping out of the way to give the Hospitallar the space and time she needed to prepare. "Nihlus? You and I are going to have words after this."

"Understood." The Turian male nodded, undoubtedly knowing that something like that was going to happen, seeing Sam in such an agitated state. "She'll need to be stood up if you want to take her armor off. Chances are, if they have peeled her, then it might be… adhered to her wounds."

"I'll hold her, you take off her armor." Stacy volunteered, looking to the female Turian, who seemed semi-cognizant of what was happening. "Nessie? Hey, I'm going to pick you up, and we're having an Asari Hospitallar look at you, okay?" Stacy said in the kindest voice she could muster, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She was all but dead certain they had peeled the _Legio_. She wouldn't be whimpering this badly from her other injures, even her broken spurs. "What I want you to do is hold onto me the best you can, and when it hurts, I want you to squeeze me, okay? I can take it, but we need to remove your armor."

" _Nnnoooo…"_ The Turian moaned, her voice barely lucid as her eyes lolled about slightly, hovering in and out of awareness. God, the female knew what was about to happen, knew what was going to have to happen. Stacy looked up to the Asari Doctor and shook her head once, blinking away the tears that threatened to cascade down her face. "P-p-please."

"We need to treat you, Nessie. It's going to hurt, but we'll be able to make it better, okay." Stacy soothed the Turian, seeing her gold-green oval eyes fluttering for a moment and then snapping to hers, focusing on her. "We can do this together, _Legio_. I will hold you up, and all I need you to do is hold onto me and squeeze when it hurts."

"O…okay." Velyanis' pained voice replied as Val grabbed one of her hands, helping the Turian sit up first, a gasp of pain coming from her mandibles as she did so, contained by sheer force of will. The Master Chief leaned her torso towards her as Stacy shouldered her up, the Turian's triceps going onto her shoulders to ease the burden on her broken spurs as Nysiana gasped sharply, but let no other noise out, holding back whatever she was feeling. The Texan slowly turned to where the Turian's back was facing Nihlus, going the Blackwatch member a nod. Kryik took a breath as he moved towards the whimpering female, slowly unclasping the armor's lock points at the top of her shoulders to release the backplate. When it didn't just fall off, he frowned.

"She's… Spirits, it's her back." The SPECTRE said, his voice… hollow. "Her armor's adhered to her wounds from clotted blood and other fluids. There's… really only two ways to do this." Nihlus' mandibles drooped as he looked to the Asari. "Fast and painful, or slow and painful."

"M-make… it-t… q-q-q-quick." The female sucked in her breath, already wrapping her arms around Stacy tight as she prepared herself for the inevitable. "Spirits, grant me strength." Her whisper was hardly there as she prayed, and Stacy held on tighter, looking to Nihlus and giving him a nod, bracing herself for the worst. The SPECTRE's talons went to the armor, and much like a band-aid, took it off in one motion.

Nysiana screamed, an ear-piercing shrike of utter pain as Stacy held her up, her arms underhooking Velyanis' armpits as the Turian's arms squeezed her hard, almost crushing the breath out of her as she howled in pain, louder than any scream Val had ever heard from another being, sapient or animal. The back piece clattered to the ground and the blonde could smell the tang of blood whiffing from the injury now exposed. Shepard's eyes went wide at the sight as her face immediately went green, and the Petty Officer rushed towards the kitchen to puke violently into the sink at the sight. Royce, who had been standing by Jane, looked green as well, closing his eyes and turning away from the sight in utter disgust. Sam looked as if she had been struck, her body swaying slightly as her face went very pale at first, and then very, _very_ hard, her eyes focusing on the sight. Doctor Shayana B'mora looked almost as if she were going to be sick as well, though she was able to control herself. Nihlus looked… dazed, muttering. Nysiana's screams turned to tearful cries, whimpers of agony that wracked her body.

"M-m-mercy…. p-p-please!" Velyanis begged, holding onto Stacy tight, her head pressed into the Non-Com's shoulder as she cried, her sobs loud and hard. "S-spirits, give me peace!" The _Legio_ was begging to die.

"Shhhh, it's okay, Nessie. You're doing fine." Stacy said, doing her best to be soothing as she stroked the back of the Turian's head, hoping to give her some measure of comfort as hot tears poured down her cheeks, unable to stop them. "You are alive, and you are _not_ alone. We stand strong, and we stand together. Now let the Doctor do her job so we can get you healed and back on your feet. We're here for you, and you are not going to face this alone. You've made it this far, we'll help you the rest of the way, okay Nessie?"

"O-okay." The voice was weak and horse from the screaming cries and the whimpers of pain as Nysiana held on, Stacy never budging an inch as the Hospitallar came forward with an auto-injector for the pain, giving her a dextro-chilarity local anesthetic to dull the pain that was undoubtedly radiating from her back. The female Turian whimpered slightly as her sobs lessened, and the weight of her increased as she grew flattened and uncoordinated, unable to give any respite even on her broken legs.

"I have a portable table set up. Please lay her upon her chest so I can start with her back." Doctor B'mora ordered, and Nihlus complied by physically moving the table closer to Velyanis, almost right next to her as Stacy shifted the weight of the Turian slightly to move her onto its plastiglas surface. The Sailor whimpered only slightly as Val moved her onto the portable operating table, Nihlus helping by lifting her legs above her spurs to adjust them without making the broken spurs any worse. The Hospitallar attached two small disk-like devices to her temples as she touched one, and a Holographic Interface Visor appeared before her eyes, tinted green as she moved to her first piece of instrumentation; another auto-injector that was undoubtedly filled with antibiotics. Stacy felt tentative talons brush her hand, and she saw that Nyisana had slipped her uninjured hand into her own, holding it gently, careful not to accidentally stab her with her talon tips.

"Please… stay. Help me… through the pain." The Sailor pleaded, her voice slightly slurred and weak as she tilted her head slightly to look at Val, the sight of it breaking the Texan's heart. God, the _Legio_ was so damn scared and hurt, she was turning to a _human_ for comfort! Sam surprised her by pulling up a chair for her, the Marshal nodding her head to her, her dancing blue eyes expressive, her face filled with worry. Stacy took a seat, never letting go of that taloned had as she sat in front of Velyanis where the _Legio_ could easily see her. What was she suppose to say to a female that had the skin torn off her back? Who had been beaten to an inch of her life, her legs broken, and her back plate ripped off? There were no words that she could think of, no saying or quote that could come close to bringing any measure of comfort to this poor creature. But for some reason, Stacy thought of a memory that she had honestly forgotten about, something back from her childhood.

She had been born near El Paso Juarez in a farming bloc to grow as much food as possible when global food shortages was the biggest issue around pre-Prothean Discovery. Her mom, like most others in the bloc, was a farmer tilling soil and picking crops on the hopes to extend humanity another decade or so. But before the ecosphere crashed in the early 2130's, her mother had been a singer in a fairly popular band, playing in clubs and venues. She had only seen moderate success, but had pursued her dream of being a musician before the environment sputtered and backfired all throughout Earth.

Stacy had grown up listening to her mother singing softly when picking tomatoes and corn, or whenever they lived in their communal rooms, given board by the mega-ranch they worked off of. Lisa Valentino had a beautiful voice that had been ruined by the growing pollution and rising carbon trioxides counts, singing while she worked even when her voice no longer sounded so sweet, sometimes cracking and sputtering. Music had always been her mother's passion, and sometimes, if Stacy thought long and hard about it, she could still remember her voice softly singing away. Her mom had been dead for years now, since before the First Contact War, but the reminder was bittersweet as Stacy remembered one song her mother sung to her whenever she was ill from the pollution and smog, a song she had written. And while she could never hold a candle to her mother's voice, the act of it had her smiling all the same.

Stacy began to sing.

" _I… have wondered about you.  
_ _Where will you be, when this through?  
_ _If all… if all goes as planned.  
_ _Will you redeem, my life again?  
_ _My life again?_

 _Fallow fields the wheat is sown,  
_ _Water down your empty soul.  
_ _Awake the seed of silent hope,  
_ _Water down your empty soul.  
_ _Fight your foes you're not alone,  
_ _Holy war is on the phone.  
_ _Asking to please stay on hold,  
_ _The bleeding loss of blood runs cold._

 _And I need you to recover,  
_ _Because I can't make it on my own…  
_ _And I need you to recover,  
_ _Because I can't make it on my own…_

 _I… have wondered about you.  
_ _Where will you be, when this through?  
_ _If all… if all goes as planned.  
_ _Will you redeem, my life again?  
_ _My life again?_

 _And I… have wondered about you.  
_ _Where will you be, when this through?  
_ _And if all… if all goes as planned.  
_ _Will you redeem, my life again?  
_ _My life again?_

 _And I need you to recover,  
_ _Because I can't make it on my own…  
_ _And I need you to recover,  
_ _Because I can't make it on my own…  
_ _And I need you to recover,  
_ _Because I can't make it on my own…  
_ _And I need you to recover,  
_ _Because I can't make it on my own…  
_ _On my own…  
_ _I'm on my own…_

"My mother use to sing me lullabies." Nysiana murmured, the anesthetic and the injuries taking their toll on the Turian female as the Hospitallar worked, taking a salve of MediGel mixed with gene-grown bonding materials meant to help protect and heal damaged flesh, to promote new growth of skin, taking a pair of disinfected gloves and gently rubbing dollops of the white creamy substance upon her back. Velyanis tensed up at the feeling at first, but relaxed when the instinct to protect herself faded away with the realization that the act was beneficial. Her eyes drooped slightly as Stacy held her taloned hand. "You have a pleasant voice, _Centurion_."

"It's Master Chief, but you can call me Val." The blonde woman smiled. "My friends call me Val."

"I'd… like that." The Turian's eyes drooped further as her head laid upon the table, breathing normally, unconscious once more. Stacy looked to the Doctor, her visor-hidden eyes reading whatever display was coming up on the obvious medical-related piece of equipment she wore, unlike anything she had ever seen.

"Her vitals are within normal perimeters, Master Chief." The Hospitallar said softly as she concentrated. "The salve will help promote healing, but I am afraid that it will only heal her wounds. It will not regrow her plates."

"I know." Stacy replied, frowning. That was the whole point of the punishment, after all. "They labeled her a betrayer, and they made it easier for someone to betray her in the future by leaving her back vulnerable."

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

"Nihlus," Marshal Sam Collins began as she gently but insistently pulled the Turian Blackwatch Commando into the other spare bedroom she had, unoccupied for the time being, "I will warn you that I am not mad at you. But I am extremely angry. So if I yell at you, I want you to know the difference, and that our friendship is not in question." The SPECTRE nodded, obviously seeing that this was needed. " _What… in the fuck… is THAT!"_ Sam's hand jerked towards the main portion of the apartment, where _Legio_ Nysiana Velyanis laid.

"That shouldn't have happened." _Centurion Magnus_ Nihlus Kryik replied, his voice subdued as he shook his head. "Yes, there are punishments in the Hierarchy that pertain the use of hanging one by one's spurs, another in which one is beaten by their own unit, and a third in which peeling of plates is the punishment. Having said that, I extremely doubt your _Legio_ has committed any offense that would warrant such punishments. Having said that, who is she?"

" _Legio_ Nysiana Velyanis, granddaughter of some Legion Legate back on Taetrus. Got surrounded and captured." That had Nihlus' mandibles twitch, probably a grimace to indicate his view on that. "I know, Turian viewpoint and all. That being said, she had some mark of shame or cowardice as face paint, was still a Tier-Three citizen after almost five years serving in the Hierarchy Navy, and they had her shoveling shit in a Dreadnaught. Human viewpoint? That's utter fucking bullshit. I know there are some examples in human history where something like that has happened, so we're not exactly on a high-and-mighty horse here, but that's just… _barbaric_." Sam wasn't afraid to use a word that seemed to be pinned upon the human race when others were concerned. "She wanted to serve her people but they kept her in that bilge hold scrapping _s'kak_. She was punished for a crime she never committed. So… she found the listing for Marshal Deputies and I gave her an interview yesterday.

"She's one of _mine_ , Nihlus."

"This… explains much." The SpecOps Warrior replied, thumbing a mandible with his thumb talon. "I can't say I know _why_ they did it, but I think I understand now. You are right; they punished her for what her grandsire did, and that is sadly something we do. I don't agree with it personally, but I've seen it plenty." The Turian shook his head sadly. "I can only imagine that they must have discovered the fact that _Legio_ Velyanis was trying to become a Marshal Deputy, or something similar. Legally, any sort of charges of betrayal is done by the High Military Tribunal on Palaven. If you had attempted to hire her only yesterday? Someone went too far. A Turian trying to be hired as a _human_ Civil Protective Services Officer does not look good, but would not suffer legal repercussions, merely social and status repercussions, such as loss of meritocracy tier and possibly loss of citizenship. But someone such as her… someone took it personal, and they overstepped their bounds by a great deal. If they had taken her to the Tribunal, she might have been punished considering who she is, but none of those punishments would have been meted. Probably loss of citizenship and exile, but not being hung by one's spurs until they snap, beating by one's own unit, or removal of plates. Those are literally our worst punishments, by far worse than Capital Punishment by firing squad. The fact that they did all three to her is beyond appalling. What ship was she serving? Did she say?"

"The THV _Valiant Resolution_. Dreadnaught-Class." Collins realized that a Dreadnaught was commanded by an Admiral, and in the Hierarchy Navy, an Admiral was an _incredibly_ powerful authority figure, at least Tier-Eighteen in the Meritocracy, depending on rank and Fleet Status. A _Legio's_ word against that of a _Pretorius Legatus?_ The Marshal doubted the Hierarchy would even give them the time of day. "Is there _anything_ we could do?"

"Realistically, very doubtful." The Blackwatch Commando replied with a sigh, seemingly understanding Sam's distress. "I know that does not please you, and to tell you to let it slide would offend you. I am telling you this because if you made the attempt…" Nihlus' brown mandibles twitched slightly, "I do not see the situation improving at all. It might make it even worse, having a high-ranking Turian such as an Admiral as an enemy. I would go with what _Legio_ Velyanis might want. Talk to her when she has made some headway into recovery, see how she thinks of the situation. She may wish just to move on past it, and no matter how you feel about it, I believe that you should respect her wishes on the matter. If she seeks to enact legal recourse, I can look up some of our laws and who would be best to look into the matter, as well as talk to her so she understands what she might get into. She…" The SPECTRE looking in the direction of the patient, and though a wall blocked their view, Sam could tell that Nihlus cared, that this situation bothered him fiercely. "She truly made her way here from her ship? With her injuries?"

"Yes." Collins replied quietly, unable to imagine it. She had no idea of the _Valiant Resolution_ was docked on the Citadel or not, or if they had cast her away on a shuttle and dumped her off. "I didn't tell her where I lived, so she must have went to a public terminal or AVINA and asked for directions, figuring… God, I must have been her only Goddamn choice." A bitter pang of guilt stabbed into heart. "This wasn't what I wanted, Nihlus. She came to me looking to be something taken away from her by others due to her grandfathers' actions, looking to be a part of something denied to her because of what the Hierarchy did. She wanted to be a cop in Civil Protective Services, but I imagine she was probably looking at a lifetime of shitscrapping in Orlop Decks throughout the Navy, not much better than a slave." The Turian male said nothing to that, though the reference obviously didn't sit well with him by the look at his faceplates. "I could _hear_ that determination, Nihlus, that force of will that had her walk through the door of a _human_ government building to give it a shot, no matter how incredibly unlikely a shot she might have had. I can only imagine what her life must have been that she was pursuing a Systems Alliance Government job listing site and saw my posting, for her to look at it and say to herself 'I will try, if only so that I can say that I did something'. I wonder if she ever realistically thought it might work out."

"That does show some incredible determination." The SpecOps Warrior replied, nodding his head slowly. "Can… I ask a favor out of you?"

"Of course." Collins replied, folding her arms and looking to the Turian. "What is it?"

"I know… that you are quite angry right now." Nihlus began, his flanged voice soft. "As you should be. You see Nysiana Velyanis as one of your own, and I know the sight must hurt you personally. I first want to say that you had nothing to do with this; this was not your fault. Nysiana made her choice coming to your Office, and you gave her… you gave her something she has probably been looking for her entire life; a chance to prove herself." The brown-plated Turian went quiet with that for a moment, looking… back? Sam realized that there was more to Nihlus than she knew, and something about this touched him.

"In that," he continued after coming back to the conversation, "you have done yourself proud. You looked upon her with fairness and equality, and I doubt you just gave it out. She earned it in your eyes, and I imagine that in that moment you accepted her, Velyanis was probably thanking every Spirit in the Book of Valluvius at her success. I… know that feeling, Sam. You gave her what she wanted… no, she earned it, but you gave her the opportunity to prove herself, and…" Again, the Turian when quiet, and Sam took a step forward and placed her hand on the Turian's forearm, looking at him with concern. "Something similar happened to myself when I was young, growing up in the Attican Traverse outside of the Hierarchy, having been born to a mining outpost owned by a manufacturing corporation. Someone gave _me_ that chance, so I know that feeling. I do commend you upon your lack of nepotism, and I wonder if Velyanis had even thought it might be a possibility. Still…" Nihlus gave off a sigh. "The favor. I know this upsets you greatly, but I ask is that… do not blame the Hierarchy directly for the actions of an individual or set of individuals. I know that some look at the way we do things and are upset or discomforted by it, especially humans. We are not a perfect people, and I ask that you judge an individual by the individual, and not the whole of the species because of a few."

"I have a feeling you mean more than just what happen to Nysiana." Collins replied quietly, thinking of the Wards.

"Yes, I do." The Turian replied, nodding. "I imagine that the coming weeks and months will be difficult for both sides, and I imagine that the strain between our species will get worse before it gets better. Please do not judge my species on the actions of a few, and do not judge an individual based upon their species or government. My… mentor never understood that. Saren absolutely _loathes_ humanity, to the point that he made decisions that I did not agree with on a fundamental level. He was the one who gave me that chance to prove myself, but… but he and I parted ways due to his attitude towards your species because I did not agree with him and he wouldn't change his ways. I have no use for a being that won't extend _some_ benefit of the doubt, and I know it can be difficult, like it can be between Turians and humans, or Batarians and humans. What you did for _Legio_ Velyanis? It was a incredible act of civility on your behalf, and why I do not doubt she has thanked you profusely, I would like to extend the same courtesy because such actions should be held in high regard." To that, Nihlus put his talons to his heart and tipped his fringe towards her, saluting her. "I will… report this day to the _Imperator_ of the Office of Special Tactics, both of the actions that occurred to Nysiana, as well as your own. You have proven to me once more that you have shown the values of a SPECTRE Operative, not merely just an Associate Member. I know the intent is for you to use your ship hunting abilities for our purposes, but I believe that you can be a great deal more. I would like to have you are our side as a sister, I think you could do your species and the galaxy proud."

"Well, as much comfort as that is, we've got other things on our plate right now, Nihlus." Sam looked over to see Doctor Shayana B'mora standing at the doorway, respecting their privacy. "Yes, Hospitallar?"

"I have come to inform you that I have completed what I could for the time being for the patient." The Asari Physician replied, standing there in a respectful pose; her arms and hands held behind her, dressed in a medical jumpsuit that didn't look to be a part of any of the hospitals of the Citadel. "I wish to discuss treatment and… possible options for her health." The Asari looked at the both of them for a moment, and then to Sam directly. "Will you be able to guarantee her safety for the time being? She will be very vulnerable for at least the next week while her bones heal and the MediGel heals what they did to her back."

"I will." The Marshal replied, and to her surprise, Nihlus nodded as well, obviously willing to be involved. "I will incur whatever costs are required for her therapy, medications, and procedures."

"That will not be necessary… sister." The Asari gave a ghost of a smile, reminding Collins that, like herself, this was a SPECTRE. "I will come back to see to her wounds as necessary, but we will need to look at options for more permanent solutions. Her legs will heal with little complications in the future, and I have the necessary medications that will allow her injured plates to heal. Unfortunately, she will have malformed plates for the rest of her life without surgical intervention, though we have time to assess if that is what she desires. The main concern I have is her back. They tore off her back plate completely, and there is nothing I can do about that with the equipment I have. She will require a graft, or a corrective plate."

"Explain." Sam asked, looking to Nihlus.

"A graft plate is one taken from a fallen Turian, donated for the cause of the living." The Turian replied, knowing of what Doctor B'mora spoke of. "It comes with complications, of course. There is the risk of secondary infections, failure to adhere, rejection odds, and she will be on anti-rejection medications for the rest of her life, interfering with her immune system. The drug are, as I understand it, quite unpleasant to take. It will be difficult to acquire one as well, as they will only come from Hierarchy Medical Facilities, with a long wait list of those who have damaged their plates from service or accident, and the first thing they will do is ask." Nihlus' mandibles twitched at that. "Likely, her Commanding Officer has sent some form of report indicating that she was peeled, which will reduce that possibility to zero. Our other option for acquiring a graft will be outside of Council Space; essentially, a Black Market Organ Dealer. That… is not a preferred option."

"No." Sam shivered at the thought, remembering hearing tales about Earth's own black market organ syndicates in the mid-21st century, nauseating tales of people waking up in ice-filled bathtubs with organs and limbs missing, paid for by the rich and wealthy who wished to live longer. "Corrective plate?"

"A synthetic plate." The Blackwatch Commando supplied, his tone subdued. "That is not so uncommon for those who wish not to wait, and one can be found with little difficulty. They can also be acquired outside of the Hierarchy, so we need not worry about any repercussions about that. But it comes with its own risks as well. A corrective plate is not a permanent solution, more like a… prosthetic, I believe the term is." To that, the Hospitallar nodded. "It can be removed, and will have to be strapped onto her daily. There are care and maintenance procedures, and it will need to be fitted, as a 'one size fits all' is not a solution. She will not be able to sleep with it on, and her back will still forever be vulnerable. She will need help from someone she trusts to care for her back as well; antibiotics, checking for injuries. We evolved with an exoskeleton, and once a part of it is removed, what is underneath is thin flesh protecting the tissues and organs underneath. She will be susceptible to injuries, and all one would need to do is to remove the corrective plate to truly harm her. One could easily _push_ an object through her back now to pierce an organ and cause her significant distress and injury. She… is crippled, essentially."

"No, I refuse to see it that way." Collins replied, her voice hard at first before she calmed herself, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a moment to get a better grip upon her emotions. She remembered well the sight of Nysiana's back, the tissues weeping blood, the sight of her exposed spine through thin semitransparent skin, the musculature of her back. It was like an anatomical representation still of the human body with the flesh removed for medical training, except on a living being. The sight had disturbed her greatly. "She is not a cripple, Nihlus." Sam spoke again, this time more in control. "Being a cripple is a choice, not an infliction. One can work past their flaws and strive forward. I…" Collins realized that Nihlus didn't know of her condition, she had never told him how it was that she could access Relay Data and read it while no one else could. The Office of Special Tactics thought it a skill; in truth, it was a gift that came with a price. "I remember hearing that word in my orphanage, being told by caretakers that we were mental defects and cripples, heard them laughing in the hallways as they went on and on about their petty problems while we suffered and were ignored no one checking on us silent tears in the pillow no one there to comfort us in the night the silent screams of loneliness neglecting us put us in our rooms no lights no noises no one there no one at all screaming silence beating me told me to be a good girl,"

"Sam!"

Collins looked to see Petty Officer Jane Shepard standing in front of her, holding her by her shoulders, her green eyes alarmed. The redhead's arms slipped around her, holding her close as Jane whispered to her, her voice soothing, comforting, fighting the memories that threatened her. _No, stay here, with her_. Sam closed her eyes and buried her face in the warmth of Shepard's shoulder, breathing in her scent, smelling the scent of her shampoo and conditioner, the fresh mint of Irish Spring. It… was comforting.

"Sorry, I…" Sam removed her face from the comfort of Jane's shoulder, taking a long breath and holding it as long as she could, seconds passing by as the steady craving for fresh oxygen built up within her, began to scratch away at her with needy claws and burning howls. She ignored it, focusing on the face in front of her, those caring green eyes that matched with hers, never looking away, and never giving in. _Stay with me_ , those eyes told her. "Thank you." Sam whispered.

"Of course." The Petty Officer smiled, looking at her sweetly. There were kilograms worth of pain behind those caring green eyes and Sam realized _God, I had slipped_ and she had spoken a little about her time in the orphanage, reliving some of those confusing days when she was a child, the memories she didn't dare relive. "Hey, don't go back there. This is where you belong."

"You are right." Sam nodded, returning the smile. "How is she?"

"Nysiana? She's… awake." The redhead frowned. "She's very depressed, I think. Stacy's talking to her, though, of all people. It's really touched her, and I never thought I'd see the day she'd warm up to a Turian, but…" Yes, that had surprised Sam as well, seeing Master Chief Valentino not just helping Velyanis physically, but emotionally as well. She wondered if their conversation from last night had anything to do with it, but more than likely it had been a growing number of situations and occurrences that made her rethink the situation. The sight of Nysiana beaten so, in so much pain, and yet had the strength to make it here? It was humbling to see. "Sam? She needs help. Lots of it."

"We will give it to her then." Collins replied immediately, no doubt in her mind or in her voice. Nysiana was one of them the moment Sam shook her hand and hired her, and she wouldn't give up on one of hers. "I have another spare bedroom that she will use for the time being, and we can help her and see to her needs while she is here. We'll… need to know what Turians normally eat on a daily basis." She looked to Nihlus, whose mandibles twitched quickly in an amused grin. "I don't think there are any dextro-chilarity related grocery stores in the _Human_ Wards. And we're not exactly allowed in the others."

"I will pick up the necessary supplies, no worries." The Blackwatch Commando nodded, needing no further explanation. "I will gather some for myself, as there may be need for me to visit as well. At the very least, I think she will need the moral support of one of her own kind to show her that some of us can look past such things."

"Thank you, Nihlus. I don't doubt she will be grateful for the support of those who care." Sam nodded, counting her blessings that she had a friend like Nihlus Kryik. "Will we need to come up with a reason why the two of you are here? A human Marshal somehow knowing a Blackwatch Commando is rather suspicious, and I have no idea what your cover is." Sam looked to the Hospitallar, not knowing if B'mora was a public SPECTRE or a clandestine one. She knew that Kryik's cover was that he was a Blackwatch Commando under a fictitious unit that consisted of a few others like himself, Turian SpecOps Warriors who were clandestine Agents of the Council. Elias Korvan of the Final Line was of the same 'unit'.

"I will worry about that, and its repercussions." Kryik responded, nodding his head. "If she asks, refer her to me, and I will tell her what she needs to know. As for the Hospitallar, Velyanis can be told that she is a Physician seeing to her needs regardless of how her injuries came to pass. That will be easily believed, and in line with what Shayana does." Jane frowned for a moment, still in the room, discovering yet another SPECTRE. There was already a Citadel-oriented Nondisclosure Agreement towards 'certain' classified information that she was allowed to know, mostly due to the fact that she, along with Master Chief Valentino and Senior Chief Mason, knew that Nihlus Kryik was an Agent of the Council. The others that had come to Therum to fight for the people of Nova Yekaterinburg hadn't identified themselves, and most had kept their helmets on during the duration of the battle and afterwards to safeguard their identities. Nihlus Kryik, having been injured by a Batarian State Arms Hishock Harpoon Gun, had to remove his helmet and armor for first aid purposes on the onset of his injuries before he could be brought to the Marshal's Office's Pit to be treated in the improvised Medical Clinic that had been created in the jail cells.

The three Navy MP's knew his face and his name, Stacy evidently knowing of him from years before. As Sam understood it, sometimes having a core group of people know of the SPECTRE's true occupation was necessary to garner help and allies when necessary. That may one day be her, selecting others to help her in her endeavors as an Agent of the Council, looking through people to find those who were willing to serve a greater purpose. Would she select Stacy and Royce, those two paragons of Military strength and professionalism? Would she pick Jane with her rough-and-tough attitude? Would she only select humans? Would… would she find another to add to the ranks of the Office of Special Tactics? It was something she hadn't really considered before, though… she did have something similar; her Marshal's Office. She could easily look for others in the name of the Alliance Federal Marshal Services, creating a 'group' of specialists to have on-hand for such things, like a SWAT Team at the ready, or C-SEC's Rapid Response Unit. That had her thinking of her future and the future of the Citadel Marshal's Office. It would take time, but perhaps she could look into it.

Until then, she had an Office to start, and friends by her side. It was enough, for now.

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

 _Legio_ Nysiana Velyanis woke up feeling groggy, lying on her chest plate as her eyes felt heavy as she opened her lids, seeing the world come in fuzzy and unrecognizable for a moment, her eyes trying to adjust. A brief swell of panic came to her as certain memories washed over her; being hung upside down, the absolute agony in her legs, the punishing blows that came again and again, the intense burning pain in her back as…

…Oh Spirits, they had _peeled_ off her backplate.

Velyanis whimpered at the thought, and she found that she was suddenly looking at a Human, a female one with a flexible fringe colored like wheat. The Turian looked at the soft faceplates and horizontal mandibles that Humans had, seeing them puckered strangely, as if she had eaten something sour. A gentle hand went onto the back of her unbroken one, holding it tenderly.

"Nessie? You're safe, okay?"

"I… okay." She remembered where she was, and how she got there. The flight in the X3M Contragravity Citadel Public Transportation Aircar had been agonizing, her back burning with pain as her plates on her face and her chest cried in agony, splintered and shattered as they were. She had looks up the only being she knew on the Citadel that wasn't a Turian, finding _Vigilus_ Samantha Collins listed, as well as her nest. She had practically crawled through the Human Wards checkpoint, C-SEC Officers laughing at her as they made her crawl through the multiscanner, taunting her and degrading her in front of _Humans_ , calling her barefaced and a coward. One had hit her with a sick-stick, and she had puked on the floor in front of her before one of the Turian Officers had kicked one of her crawling arms away to make her land in the puddle of her own gizzard-juice, laughing as he did so.

It had taken her forever to reach the WardTram, alternating between walking and crawling on her crippled legs, her broken spurs grinding with each step as she took the conveyance to the 1000 Block, then another that would take her from Lower Wards to Mid-Wards, and finally a third that took her to the center of the 1050 Block (Mid-Wards), where she walked another hundred meters or so to Shangri-La Tower. Humans had been staring at her as she moved, whimpering in pain as she did so, and surprisingly doors were held for her when she entered the Tram, and one human male offered her his seat in front of his kin, Nysiana practically collapsing as she went from the 0800 Block to the 1000 Block two kilometers away, the respite giving her relief. She had logged in as a guest at the lobby of the Tower, gaining temporary access to the Twenty-Ninth Floor, and had practically stumbled her way to the apartment she had located using a public terminal and AVINA, her clearance for the Hierarchy Navy yet to be revoked.

She had pleaded to every Spirit in the Book of Valluvius that someone would be home, that someone would help her.

Thank the Spirits she had been right.

"Val?" Nysiana asked weakly, remembering the Human now, the one that had held her hand and sang to her when the pain threatened to break her, the one that held her when her armor had come off and… Peace! She had begged to die, the agony unbearable. She had shamed herself terribly in front of these strangers, these _Human_ strangers, and yet they said not a word of it. No ridicule came from their strange, soft mandibles, and no insults were given. "H-how bad?"

"The truth?" The female with the wheat-colored flexible fringe asked, her strange round brown eyes looking at her with all seriousness. Velyanis merely nodded her head. "Two broken spurs, your left hand was broken, about seventeen cracked plates, four were splintered, and two were shattered. Several more were beaten into deformity and…" The Human female's face went harsh, "your _back_."

"I know." Nysiana had to shut her eyes to keep the tears from leaking out, to keep her shame in. "S-S-Spirits, t-they-y…"

"Shhh, it's okay now." The female said soothingly, trying to comfort her. That… wasn't normal. Why wasn't this _Centurion_ berating her for her weakness? "You're one of us now, and we look out and take care of our own, Nessie."

"Hey, you're awake!" Another female stepped in, this one with fur fringe the color of scarlet red. She seemed younger of the two females, but it was hard to tell with Humans unless their fringes went gray with age. It took her a moment to remember the female from yesterday, visiting her when she was at the _Vigilus'_ Office. Jan? Jane! That was her name. "Is there anything I can get you? Water? Um… I don't think we have anything else dextro-friendly." Jane's face winced at the admittance.

"Water is fine." What she really could go for was a bottle of Palavenian Silver, but Nysiana doubted she'd get that if she were on medications. The younger _Centurion_ with the scarlet flexible fringe moved off to the Galley to get her some water as the older one looked at her, checking on her. It was… different, these Humans were different. Nysiana knew they were _different_ , of course, but… she hadn't ever really been around them before. What she knew of them had come from scuttlebutt on the vessels she served, the rumors and derogatory terms about monkeys in general. She certainly didn't see them hooting or eating bugs off one another, and she figured that was something mean and untrue. She… would have to ask, but she was embarrassed to. She didn't want to offend them. Jane came back with a small clear container with water inside, along with a thin tube sticking out of it. "What is this?" Velyanis asked, eyeing the tube, which looked to be made of thin PlastiGel, hollow on the inside.

"It's a straw!" The younger _Centurion_ replied. "I… ah… didn't know if your mandibles could use a Human-oriented glass, so… I thought this would work just in case."

"The glass is close enough." The container was clear CeramiGel, then, and round instead of ovaliod like Turian-styled drinking receptacles were, or fluted ones with smaller necks. She grunted a little as she tried to drink while lying down, but the movement made her back flare up in pain. She grimaced as she was forced to use the straw like some hatchling with their first drinking receptacle.

"You're healing, it's okay." Val said softly, taking a cool damp cloth and placing it on the back of her neck to help keep her temperature down. Somehow, the _Centurion_ knew what she was thinking. "You want to be tough? Heal up properly first so you can go back to doing it the right way. Masochistic bullshit only makes it longer and worse in the long run. Trust me on this one, _Legio._ "

"I'm… not a _Legio_ anymore." Velyanis said softly, pulling the straw from her mandibles as she felt the bitter tang of that thought in the back of her throat. Almost five years serving the Hierarchy faithfully, despite the _s'kak_ jobs and details they gave her, the worse positions and the worse hours, the merciless teasing and insults. She had been so _determined_ to prove them all wrong by showing them that she wasn't a coward, that she could take whatever their dished and… it didn't matter now. Her shame was complete.

"You're a Deputy now, same as us." Jane replied, nodding her head as she sat down in a Human-oriented chair, looking into her gold-green eyes with her own pure green ones. "Hierarchy doesn't want you? Fuck 'em." The Human shrugged her shoulders, as if it was the most natural thing to say! "We do."

"You do?" Nysiana Velyanis couldn't believe she was hearing this. These Humans… were mad! She was a _Turian!_ She was crippled! And they wanted her?

"Yes, we do."

The female turned her head towards who had spoken, and saw the _Vigilus_ standing there, only a meter or two away. She was dressed in more Human-oriented clothing, not her Duty Uniform; a white short doublet with a pair of blue fabric leggings. _Vigilus_ Collins approached her as she knelt by the table that she laid up, looking at her with blue eyes that stared at her intently. The eyes softened at a moment, the scrutiny over for whatever reason.

"There is an Asari Hospitallar here that has volunteered to look over your treatment and help you get fully healed. You will follow her orders to the letter so you can get back on your feet, but no sooner than when she thinks is appropriate. Understood?" The _Vigilus_ commanded, and Nysiana gulped a little bit, nodding her head. "Most of your wounds and your bones will heal well, but we will need to talk about possible surgeries and corrections. Are you up for that?"

"Yes, _Vigilus_." Velyanis replied, feeling… she didn't know how she felt. This wasn't like the Hierarchy at all. If a Sailor had been as injured as she in conflict, she would have been shipped to some planet-based Clinic under the care of Barber-Surgeons while being mustered out of the Hierarchy. "I… don't have any Credits to pay for it."

"I will be covering the expenses." Collins informed her, surprising the Sailor. The Hierarchy, of course, paid for medical expenses, having a social medical program to see to the needs of its citizens. But to have someone charge for her medical had been a scary thought; Nysiana had heard how expensive it could be. But that someone was willing to cover the costs?

"I will find a way to make it up to you, _Vigilus_. This I swear." The former _Legio_ promised.

"Then get better, by _following_ the Doctor's orders. I don't want to see you up and about one minute earlier than her expressed approval… Deputy Velyanis." The blue eyes were boring into her own again. "Now we need to get some personal input from you concerning some of your more permanent injuries. I know some of your damaged plates will heal in fullness with treatment and time, but some of them have been rather pulverized, I fear. As I understand it, that can be corrected with surgery."

"It doesn't matter." Nysiana replied, closing her eyes, not wanting to see that face that was trying so hard for her. "I am already barefaced. A few deformed plates are of no concern."

"That term will _not_ be used again."

The female Turian opened her eyes to see the _Vigilus'_ , her eyes _hard_.

"That," the Human stated, "is a term made up by _cowards_." The venom in her voice was harsh. "I do not understand why it means that one is untrustworthy, but I don't care. I judge individuals by their actions and their worth, not by the words of others and superstitions. Colonial markings or no, you are a sapient being that is worthy of respect and honor regardless. _Never_ live based upon those who would judge you by a word. I know that feeling well, and I will not abide by it, not for myself or for anyone else. I look at you and I do not see a coward, Nysiana. I saw a female who had the courage and audacity to walk into _my_ office to follow her dream, no matter how unlikely. You may be the first _ever_ to try. We have a word for that; pathfinder, one willing to walk where no one else has. You could have given up and given in at any point of time before you stepped through my door. You could have left my office and apologized. You fought for it, even when I highlighted what you might face, you fought for it. Why?"

"I… wanted more for myself." Velyanis replied softly, looking at the _Vigilus_. "I was never going to leave the Military, stuck at a Tier-Three Citizen, working the nastiest duties, forced to work the longest hours. I… wanted to be able to hold my head high and say that I earned something for myself."

"Doesn't sound like the work of a coward to me. Or one who would hide their face." The _Vigilus_ replied as she slipped her flesh, stubby five blunted talons into her own, holding her uninjured hand. "I have seen bravery in many forms, Nysiana, in many walks of life. It is easy to be courageous amongst those with courage, when their eyes are on you and they may see your fear. But to be courageous when there is no one else, to stand alone when no one is watching and continue to be brave and true? Few ever get that chance, and fewer succeed. Are you going to let those _cowards_ win? Or do you want to hold your head high?"

"I will not live in shame anymore." Nysiana replied, her flanged voice strong and true, looking at the _Vigilus_ with conviction. "I… still want to be in your Civil Protective Services, if you'll have me."

"I will." The Human replied, her horizontal mandibles pulling up in a smile. "I'll need you healthy, so you get that way. We'll work up a training doctrine and equipment for you, since we've only got Human-oriented equipment, and you will be the only one without any law enforcement experience on your side. So for the first few months, I will stick you with a partner, someone who will watch your back and teach you how to do your job, Deputy. So let me ask again; your plates that have suffered being pulverized and malformed, would you like to look into surgical options?"

"I… do not." Velyanis replied after a long moment, thinking it over. "They may see me bleed, they may see me cry. They will _not_ see me disguise what they did to me. I… am a survivor; let others see my scars and recognize that I will _never_ break."

"You don't get much more Turian than that." _Centurion_ Val said with an audible snort through her pointed, narrow snout, but there was a knowing smile upon her mandibles. "The concept isn't too different from Human skin graft so… if you do change your mind in the future, you can do so when you're not so full of piss and vinegar."

"Um…"

"She means stubborn and overly enthusiastic." Jane said, chuckling as Velyanis tried _not_ to imagine being filled with… eww. She wasn't even sure what _ven-ah-gur_ was! The scarlet-fringed Human came to the rescue on that one. Humans had the _oddest_ idioms! "Don't worry, she tells me that about once a week."

"Humans are weird." Nysiana replied, her eyes immediately going wide at the slip as her whole body tensed up at the insult she had inadvertently said. Much to her surprise, all there females in front of her found it amusing; Val snorted but smiled, Jane chuckled, and Collins merely shook her head, trying not to laugh out loud. This was a side of Humanity she had never seen or heard of before, the side that was behind closed doors, the side that was amongst friends, Nysiana realized. At first, she thought that there were merely sharing it with her, to make her comfortable. But no, that wasn't it, was it? They weren't sharing it with her.

They had included her.

"Regardless," the _Vigilus_ smiled, but continued on, "we will honor and respect your wishes. For your back?" The brown soft-fringed female winced. "That will need to be addressed. I will not let you risk yourself so easily, and I will not have you expose yourself to injury in such an easy manner. The Hospitallar has told me of a couple of options that we can look into, but as I understand it, we may have to look into the fact that a corrective plate will be the only option available for you." That… was a rather diplomatic way of looking at it, Velyanis thought. She understood that the _Vigilus_ wasn't trying to imply that she was vulnerable or weak; she was expressing her interest to help her heal and continue to work towards what she most wanted.

"Now I don't know a lot about the subject, but I know someone who does and is willing to look into it for your benefit if you'll let him. He is a friend of mine, and he has expressed his interest in seeing to your needs for the time being. When you came here and we did not know what to do, it was he that I called, and it was he that got you a Physician to tend to you. I have trusted him with my life and the lives of my men in the past, and he has never let me down." Nysiana realized that the _Vigilus_ was speaking about a friend that wasn't a Human, most likely a Turian. That would make sense, considering the circumstances, though the female doubted there were many Turian-Human friends out there. But the build-up seemed odd. Was the _Vigilus_ afraid she would whimper at the sight of another Turian? Perhaps the Human was trying to put her at ease during her weakened state. That would make sense. "I would like for you to meet him, since you will probably be seeing a good deal of him over the next few days."

"That is fine." Velyanis replied, nodding her head. The three Human females made some space as a male Turian came into view, armored in… _Spirits!_

It was a _Blackwatch_ Commando!

"S-s-sir!" Nysiana Velyanis panicked at the sight of one of the most elite soldiers the Hierarchy produced, the infamous Blackwatch Unit utilized against any and all who would dare harm the Hierarchy and its citizens by means of secrecy, espionage, sabotage, or terrorism. If the Hierarchy produced some of the finest soldiers in the galaxy (and they did), then the Blackwatch was the epitome of combat elites; wrath and vengeance made flesh and armor. "S-sir, I…"

"Relax, young one." The male replied softly as he sat down in one of the Human-oriented seats, trying to get comfortable on a piece of furniture not meant for Turian postures. "There is no need to enact ceremony with me. I am here as a friend, called here by a friend. I wish to help you while you recuperate."

"But… I…" Nysiana knew the tales, and knew what she was now. No matter what the _Vigilus_ might think or say (and it touched her that the Human wouldn't stand for such things as being called _barefaced_ ), this was a male Turian in full view of her shame, who undoubtedly knew who she was and what she had suffered.

"Nysiana, you are one of the bravest sapients I've ever met. And I mean that from the bottom of my spirit." The Commando said, a slow smile creeping on his mandibles. "You remind me of someone else I know, too proud to _not_ do the right thing, no matter the cost. A rookie cop on a toxic world, woefully unprepared, and yet never backing down no matter the odds. What was it that you said back on Revan, Sam? About the law standing tall?"

" _'For where the law stands tall, no good man shall perish, but live forever on in justice and equity. And where evil men exists, it is the duty of those sworn to protect the innocent to ensure they meet their righteous end'_." The _Vigilus_ replied, surprising Velyanis. That was… actually pretty good. Collins had worked alongside this Blackwatch Commando? Humans were tougher than she knew! So that was how they knew each other? She would have to ask later, if they were willing to talk about it. Wait… Revan?

"Was that… the place they were breeding slave hatchlings?" Nysiana asked, tightening her mandibles up as she realized she probably shouldn't have asked.

"Yes, yes it was." The _Vigilus_ responded, her voice soft, her eyes haunted as a hand went absently to her belly. "A way-in-over-her-head rookie cop, but with some good friends at her side." The female looked to the male Turian and smiled.

"I was there." Velyanis whispered, remembering the House of Horrors. "They ordered me to help collect the bodies of the hatchlings in that one room. It was… it made me _sick_ to see that, to see so many little bodies so carelessly tossed, like trash. I must have wept and apologized to every one that I carried to the Mortuary Team in the next room. Such a despicable act, I remember how glad I was that it was stopped, that the perpetrator was captured instead of just killed so he could be forced to give up the rest of his barefaced organization." She didn't hide the disgust or venom in her flanged voice. "I… heard there was a Human involved. I did not know that was you, _Vigilus_."

"She was the key instrument to it." The Blackwatch Commando replied, nodding his fringed head. "She was there every step of the way, right by my side. Never balked, never gave in. Admitted that the task was more than she had been trained for, and yet still used her skills as an investigator as well as a Deputy to make sure that the House of Horrors was dismantled. The law stood tall that day, did it not, Sam?"

"Indeed it did, Nihlus." The Human smiled, nodding her head. "Could have gone without getting shot in the gut, though." Velyanis winced at that. Gut shots _hurt_. "So Nihlus here wants to discuss options for your back, as well as getting you supplies for the next week or so. I'm putting you up until you're on your feet at the very least, and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer." Velyanis was about to object, but lost before she could say anything. "First off, you are healing, and… vulnerable. You'll be safe here, which will be one less worry for me. Second, I doubt you have any other accommodations considering what your previous Commanding Officer did to you." Yes, that was certainly true. "Lastly, what kind of person would I be to put out a person in need?"

"I… thank you, _Vigilus_."

"It's Sam."

"Nessie." Velyanis said with a smile, looking over to the older _Centurion_ , Val giving her a nod. "I think I rather like that name."

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Marshal Sam Collins sat in her office, looking through a few data packets sent to her from various organizations throughout Earth Alliance Space, mostly updates and need-to-knows that all managerial-level persons such as herself needed to keep eyes on. It was Saturday, and she had headed into the Marshal's Office for just a few hours of work in case something strange decided to happen on a weekend (which happened too often). Master Chief Stacy Valentino had as well, mostly to play with guns. She was a Navy Master-at-Arms, having gone through multiple classes and training modules to keep herself at expert levels of weapons technology permitted throughout Council Space, generally knowledgeable about any military-oriented weapons, law enforcement weapons permissible, and civilian model capabilities. Stacy was a gun nut in a firearm-oriented position; a match made in Heaven. She was already calling the Armory her 'Office', and Sam wasn't about to dissuade her. The Texan was passionate about her job, and letting her do anything less was a crime.

"Got something for you here." Val walked in through Sam's already opened door, the quiet office soon to be occupied when Monday rolled around. The Master Chief was carrying a rifle that had Sam look at it. She didn't immediately recognize it. "This baby here?" Val was carrying it veteran-styled, hugged against her chest with the weapon pointed almost vertically downward, cradled to the right side of her chest. "This is a Armax Arsenal Crossfire Assault Rifle, Mk. VII. Turian-made, but with parts and pieces meant for us five-fingered folk. Take a look."

The blonde woman stood close enough to hand the weapon over as Sam looked up and down its body, knowing that Armax Arsenal weapons were high-quality, expensive, and generally only sold to those who held high-class weapons licenses for it. Stacy had modified the weapon heavily, more than just the pistol grip that housed the trigger assembly and ammo block well for 'five-fingered folk'. There was an attachment to the front of the weapon, another pistol grip that would recess into the undercarriage that was also a tactical light that had three lenses on it; light, infrared, and laser. The magazine well had been doubled as well, widened and lengthened for the larger one point five kilogram blocks, as well as a beveled port for easier reloading. A Trijicon SACOG sight was mounted on the top receiver, the Smart Attenuated Combat Optical Group sight meant to not only provide a magnification viewer that went from one power to fifteen power, measuring the size of the target with known distances and zooming automatically, but would adjust the reticle with a variety of conditions; atmosphere, pressure, wind, temperature, and particlization. A recoil buffer and stabilizer had been grafted to the weapon's collapsible buttstock, as well as a magnetized buttplate to connect the weapon to the users' shoulder in case one-handed firing was necessary.

Normally, the Crossfire fired a seven point five gram military-authorized penetration slug instead of a breakable round, but had been modified with a ten-gram shaver. The barrel was about ten centimeters longer than normal, and when Sam pulled back the heat dispenser cover, she saw that the heatsink was an after-market install; it wasn't made of copper, but of hardened ceramiglas, offering close to twenty percent more heat diffusion. All in all, it was a very fine weapon. Perhaps a bit excessive for the normal run-of-the-lot cop, but in a SWAT members' hand?

"Wish we had a few of these on Therum." Sam mentioned, her voice melancholy as she put the rifle to her right shoulder and looked down the sight, seeing the simple red dot reticle that would auto-adjust with distance and conditions. "No Smart Targeting Software?" Usually such things were displayed on the inside of a sight holographically, meant to assist aim and adjust micro-degrees to ensure accuracy. Collins saw none of those upon the SACOG.

"Those things are wonky at best, and hackable, to boot." Stacy replied, waving off the idea of STS as if it were of no import. "Oh, it's good for certain things, like 'traditional' battles where you're on one side, and they are on the other. But in a fluid environment and ever-changing battle lines? No, not practical." Sam sat back, interested. She wasn't a gun nut, though she knew some things about common weapons. "STS will have IFF redundancy programs to keep fratricide down, but they're horrible for hostage situations or when things get close and nasty. Generally, you can't fire anywhere within a meter of your own guys, the STS recognizing the IFF set to 'friendly' and preventing you from, say, shooting the bogie about to stab him to death, or hitting a terrorist piece of shit with a hostage when it recognizes an unarmed combatant. Plus, the VI's on those things are generally laughably easy to hack and interfere with. Want a weapon that won't work when you need it most?"

"No, most definitely not." Sam replied, feeling the weapon in her hands. "Yours?"

"Royce's', actually. I got me a customized Colt Arms M-99 Sabre Engagement Rifle that's pretty much tricked out like that one there," she nodded to the Crossfire, "save that I didn't need to make mine human-compatible. You don't want to know how much each of those costs."

"I'm sure I don't." Sam winced as she handed the Crossfire back. "Why have these but carry Nexus Gladius' Battle Rifles?" That was what the MP's had on Therum, the Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms' standard issued weapon, the basic model found in the hands of mercs, private security that allowed rifles, and even law enforcement agencies.

"Royce and I… have been around the block a few times." Val replied, wincing slightly as she sat on top of Sam's desk top, on the opposite side as so not to crowd her in. "We were both up for SpecOps a few years back, and… I told you about that mission with Nihlus. Had that Sabre with me, and that weapon saved my life more than once by being more powerful than what most standard armor can handle. Got Royce that Crossfire in case he was ever in some similar situation. They were both locked up and sittin' pretty in our personal storage locker in Arcturus. Whoops." Collins just shook her head. Yes, they were expensive rifles with some high-quality modifications. "That Modulus of yours will be gettin' tweaked, too." The Nexus ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle had been 'acquired' from the hands of a dead human slaver in Revan when Sam realized that her Nexus 2169 Lawbringer just wasn't going to cut it completely. Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms made good weapons, but only 'good'. Armax Arsenal was generally the go-to weapons company of Turian gun nuts, and Colt Arms had been making fine weapons for centuries for humanity. "But the best weapon in this Office? That one."

Sam looked down at her 696, holstered on her left hip.

"Know much of it?" Stacy smiled, her head leaning to one side as Sam professed that she didn't; she only knew of it from Office scuttlebutt back on Therum, when it hung off the hip of Frontier Marshal Bartholomew Weathers, her predecessor. "It's a mass driver; old mass accelerator technology from back before we were zipping through Mass Relays with Eezo, but updated with current technology at the time. Back during the Resource Wars in the early-2120's, Smith and Wesson went and made a weapon that would crack through human armor, especially engine blocks in APC's. That was the Model 696, and it was a real nail driver, able to spit out a round at over thirty-seven hundred Joules when most rifles at the time were pegging less than two thousand.

"Of course," Stacy shrugged, "the FCW happened, and the Council imposed their Treaty of Farixen, limiting what weapons we could make. Mass Accelerators were banned, too slow to activate Kinetic Shields, and the few that did survive were because they were less-than substantial and had to be converted to take standard slugs. That," Val pointed to the Model 696, "may be one of a few hundred left when human ingenuity ruled weapons and armor. That hogleg of yours hits harder than most high-end rifles do, and some of the weaker sniper rifles. Notice it doesn't collapse into carrying configuration?" Sam nodded; the Smith and Wesson looked like a revolver of old, and didn't have any moving parts save for the activation hammer and the heat-sink cylinder.

"That weapon's pure meat and muscle, with six separate mini-heatsinks that contain all the heat from one shot, needing to be cooled before firing again. Technically? That's illegal." The MP's brown eyes danced with mirth. "How Weathers got it? No idea, probably was his from long ago or maybe he bought it when it first came out and the company was forced to recall them back. Can't quickdraw a collapsible weapon; takes two seconds for it to configure and the rails to power up. Yours? Fit to fire at any time, as lethal as the day she was made."

"It's more powerful than your Sabre or the Crossfire?" Collins asked, a little awed. She had been carrying it because it had come with the badge, and it looked like what a Marshal's gun _should_ look like; a tool of authority and instrument of intimidation. While she wasn't necessarily a cowboy, it was a cowboy's gun, and she was a Marshal. It just fit like that.

"Oh yes. Sabre's closer to it than the Crossfire, and not by much for both, but yes. May I?" Stacy held out a hand, and Sam pulled the gun from her Kydex holster and handed it to Val pistol grip first. The Master-at-Arms accepted it, holding it in both hands, her fingers brushing along its ReSteel surface. "A human-made weapon meant for human hands, before alien technology forced us to change our line of thinking to be more like them. A real piece of history and innovation, this here hand cannon." Stacy smiled a sad smile, shaking her head sadly. It was obvious what her opinion was on those ideals. She had been born in a time where there were humans and nobody else, every achievement made by human minds and human hands. "Nothing I can do for this revolver; wasn't made for alien tech or mods. But honestly?

"You can't improve upon perfection." The Master Chief smiled lopsided as she handed the revolver back. "I'd kill to find another, if another does exists. I even looked it up during leave. Plenty of takers on the FFS boards on all the weapons sites in Alliance Space after the Battle of Therum, pics and stills of you and your hogleg in action have certainly gotten attention back to 'human' weapons. No givers, though. I imagine one of those would come at a dear price. Probably more than my Sabre as-is."

"And to think I brained some bouncer with it." Sam smiled as she reholstered the revolver, making Stacy laugh out loud.

"Oh, that ain't no fragile squirt gun, Marse. That'll take a lickin' and keep on tickin'. Won't jam, won't get hacked, won't be interfered with. A gun as a gun is meant to be; a tool deadly in the hand of an artist." Sam frowned as she looked at Stacy. "Oh no, I'm not taking it. Would love to, but you've earned the right to that 696, Sam. Watched you blow off that SIU Commander's hand with a quickdraw, and all I saw was _blur_." The Non-Com smiled. "Maybe if I were still an ODST Helljumper sent into stupidity from a Karmen Line I'd might arm wrestle you for it. Be that as it may," Stacy patted Royce's Crossfire, "I got my babies ready to vrock n' vroll."

"Of course." Sam smiled, letting the older woman have her day in the sun. "Armor?"

"Looking into it." The Master Chief nodded, getting into another one of her field of expertise. "The AimPoint Ballistic Impact-Resistant Vests are rated Level-IIa, so that will add about five hundred Joules of impact resistance. That's a standard five gram slug, and a seven gram round." Vests were meant to be worn under armor, though it could be worn under normal clothing, too. Collins knew a fair bit about the BIR Vests meant to protect the torso, much like the ballistic bodysuits that the Navy had the MP's wear on Therum. "We can coat them with some AblativGel for about an extra hundred Jays, but you'll sweat it out in a month under normal circumstances, and after every serious mission. But that extra hundred can be the difference between bruised ribs and a shot lung.

"The Patrolman's," she continued, talking about the Rosenkov Materials' Medium Patrolman Armor, standard armor for every big city police force, "are good quality. I wouldn't go fighting a war in it, but a tactical response or a bad situation will be fine. They're rated at a kiloJoule, so add the BIR Vests and some AblativGel and you've got enough stopping power for most civilian rifles. Not the hunting kind, mind you, but the popguns some survivalist thinks is a Lancer, like the old Mattocks and MA-4's from the FCW. Something _ad hoc_ 'ed or street-modded… maybe not so much. That's why we got the Kinetic Defense Fields. They're good for five kiloJays total, but I'm not too impressed with the charge recycler; that sits at a five hundred Joules per second recharge rate. I've got them set at twenty-five percent power, so that'll slow anything less than military-grade down to paint-scratching. I'll run the specs through the Armory's computer and give it a good gauge with common weapons and prior weapons busts on the Citadel to see what we might be up against, and adjust accordingly."

Sam nodded, understanding what Stacy was talking about, but letting the woman perform her job that she was obviously more-than-qualified for. The Marshal had learned a little of this in the Marshal's Academy mostly to be familiar with, but knew that for someone like Val, the intricacies were in the details, and someone such as her could make the difference between life-and-death. It was one of the reasons she wanted the Master Chief in her Marshal's Office. "I'll send over my ideas and plans for approval to you when I go through the weapons and see what's allowed and available for the standard-issued Springfield Seven-Five's and Glock 18's. Probably put a rate-of-fire limiter on those cute little machine pistols to help keep rounds on target and Deputies from getting a little too nervous during stressful moments."

"Good idea, I like it." Collins was well aware how behind she was on the power curve, so to speak. Not only was she now operating a law enforcement agency in the middle of a start-up, but also she was going to have to play some serious catch-up on a variety of levels. She still had gigaBytes of information to read through pertaining to all the systems that the Citadel used; the Public Address Systems, the hololights displays that most just assumed were for advertising, the CyberLink System, AVINA, the Citadel Public Transportation Authority, both AirCar rentals and the Trams, the EID systems that logged in their Personal Area Network Accounts, the Araike Technologies' Multiuse Scanner that C-SEC used at checkpoints throughout the Citadel (and especially the Human Wards), the Tech Alarms for BlackTech, Social Networking Interactive Software that provided a sort of 'virtual world' through the various SNS providers that literally added another entire dimension to the Citadel, and so much more.

Sam tried wrapping her hypercalculic mind around the fact that there was literally a cyberworld all around her, the Citadel a SMARTCity; a massive urban development integrating information and communication technology and ExtraNet of Items technology in a secure fashion to manage the Citadel's assets through the use of a supermassive Virtual Intelligence System, AVINA. These assets included Wards departments' information systems, schools, libraries, transportation systems, hospitals, power plants, water supply networks, waste management, law enforcement, and other community services. It used rapidly-updating urban informatics and technology to improve the efficiency of services, as well as the reduction of cost and waste resources. The system allowed AVINA to interact directly with the community, the Citadel's infrastructure and to monitor what was happening in the Citadel, how it was evolving through its sapient inhabitants, and how to enable a better quality of life. Through the use of sensors integrated with real-time monitoring systems, data was collected from citizens and devices and then processed and analyzed. The information and knowledge gathered were keys to tackling inefficiency, or so the 'official' statement said.

What Sam heard? BIG BROTHER really was watching. She wondered how many intelligence services were illegally tapping into it.

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Master Chief Stacy Valentino and Marshal Sam Collins were walking back from the Marshal's Office, having done a few hours for the weekend mostly to get into the habit of things, setting up their respective positions and using the time before things began to hit the ground running. Stacy enjoyed working with Sam, the young woman being both smart but also willing to learn. It wasn't unusual for her to work with someone much younger than herself, most Ensigns in the Systems Alliance Navy and 2nd Lieutenants in the Systems Alliance Marine Corps usually twenty-one or twenty-two when they graduated from Military Academy or another College-endorsed Reserve Officer Training Corps. True, Sam was younger at that, only nineteen, but the young woman had showed herself to be driven towards her goal, picking her path and accomplishing it upon her own merit. That spoke a great deal about her as a person, and Stacy had to admit that Collins was far smarter than she was at the same age, regardless that the younger woman was a savant or not.

Val had been a headstrong young woman more interested in fighting and drinking at the time, more than likely to find herself tumbling into some man's bed during the weekends and interested in blowing shit up. Thankfully, a Chief Petty Officer by the name of Hans Bromm had figuratively smacked her upside the head more than a few times to get her act straight, turning her into some trashy Sailor with no real plans for her future and into someone who could look themselves in the mirror and have some personal pride in themselves.

She had started studying for her Tests to get up in rank, using the ENavyU courses to take correspondence lessons that put her ahead of her contemporaries, and began taking shit more seriously. Val was looked upon more than others were because of her Navy Cross that she earned in the disaster of New Beijing during _Operation: Repensium_ , and she cleaned up her act and got her shit together so that there was something worth looking at. She gotten her ranks, taken extra training modules to become tougher and better, and even gone to UArc online to earn her Bachelor's in Psychology.

On top of that, she was qualified at Light Jump, ODST, a certified Armorer, and expert in searching both people and locations, had taken extensive courses in interrogations (both in lock-up and on the field), and was sometimes lent to the Office of Naval Intelligence for a little extra muscle whenever wetwork was needed for one of their Agents. She met Royce on one of those missions when she was just a Petty-2 and he a Petty-3, the Australian the typical 'mule'; there for heavy lifting. They ran into each other on-again/off-again between missions, posts, leaves, and deployments, and after a year of messages and such, Royce finally got the nerve to actually ask her out on a real date. Stacy hadn't seriously dated anyone before, and the Aussie was a gentleman despite the macho bravado. Even after knowing each other for ten plus years, the Texan couldn't imagine herself being with anyone else.

Stacy and Sam were heading towards the 1100 Block (Mid Wards) to the 1000 Block (Mid Wards), only being a kilometer or so from the Marshal's Office to Shangri-La Tower where Collins' apartment was, a nice convenience. They were on the Main Boulevard of the Mid Wards, where the strip was lined with businesses, shops, cafes, and entertainment venues like a long shopping center, the Boulevard getting the most amount of foot traffic due to the WardTrams that ran back and forth, as well as the main accesses deeper into the Ward Blocks themselves. Digital Holographic Advertisements arched over the Boulevard in the hopes to capture the attention of potential customers as digital flyers were placard upon walls for informational purposes as well as adverts. Light-board monitors flashed megasigns to inform travelers of some of the bigger companies that sold their services and products, department stores and franchises being the glitzier ones while smaller ones generally hovered above doors or raced along the pathways to catch attention of passersby.

And around them was the masses of humanity itself, everything from well-dressed businesspersons walking the Boulevard or taking advantage of the Auto-Walks to punk-looking 'gangers with odd haircuts and dyed colors, dressed in whatever was the latest trash fashion. Val grimaced at the sight of what looked to be a teenaged woman only slightly younger than Sam swaggering with attitude in the opposite direction with about a dozen piercings decorating her face and ears, a shaved undercut leaving only the top portion of her hair, which was a dyed green mess of dreadlocks. She wore a 'shirt' that was apparently made of translucent plastic, buttoned just below her small breasts to lift them up, completely on display as if she were an exotic dancer in a gentleman's club. She was tatted up the wazoo, only her face bare as several decorated the shaved portions of her skull and neck, with two sleeves and full-body trunk. Her face was surly and beckoning for a fight as she eyed everything and everyone, her 'don't give a shit' attitude almost like heavy perfume. The ensemble of her 'clothes' was complete with baggy cargo pants and a pair of combat boots clomping away on the Boulevard, striding past people and not moving away for anyone for any reason. Stacy just snorted as the punk passed them by, oblivious to them and the fact that they were Officers of the Law. Val was half-tempted to take a PacRod and give the chippy a nice motherly lesson in manners and taste, but doubted that Collins would find that amusing.

"Thank you for having better taste than that." Val told the younger woman walking next to her, who snorted.

"At least she attempted to wear something resembling a shirt." Sam shook her head. "A pair of suspenders would have been a nice addition."

"And cover up that sweet ink?" The Texan drawled, making the Marshal chuckle at the absurdity of the thought. "She looked like a damn walking piece of 'ganger art, you ask me."

"Makes you wonder if there's a rose, rainbow, or butterfly hidden somewhere in that mess." Collins snarked, making Val laugh at what was generally considered a girl's first tattoo. It would have been pretty funny to discover if there was one of those on an ankle, buried underneath the rest. It was good to hear Sam joke. More often that not she was too serious, buried in work, and that ceaseless mind of hers working overtime even by her impressive standards. Just being able to be a person and a woman? Stacy didn't doubt that Collins didn't get much of a chance at that growing up in an orphanage, and then busting her ass double-time in Uni, according to her. Val had seen the transcripts when she asked Sam about them, and saw that the young woman had done eighteen credit hours a semester! Start including studies, schoolwork, and whatever research and papers she had to do during that time, and Val doubted the young woman had anything considered a life. Hell, Jane was her _first_ anyfriend, boy or girl!

And the way she had latched onto Stacy and Royce so quickly? Friends/parental figures, for sure. Poor kid never had a friend in her life, did she? It was like everything that everyone else did ten years prior was happening to her now. Then thrust her in some real bad scenarios like Revan, Therum, and the Citadel, and it was no wonder Collins brought the three of them, her personal support group when things had gone from difficult as shit to terrible beyond belief. The Citadel was a pretty place, but behind the veneer was the racism and oppression that all the races exhume upon one another, the lights and the glam keeping the masses ignorant. Sam could use a few more laughs and a few more friends. No wonder she connected with that Turian girl, Nysiana Velyanis; someone that was the Palavenian version of herself. Val was still a little iffy on that one, though what had happened to her had pissed the Master Chief off something fierce; no one fucked with a subordinate like that, especially over something so stupid.

"Val? Get back on the clock."

Sam's voice had Stacy out of her reverie as she found herself near the 1000 Block (Mid Wards) entrance where she saw a patrol of Citadel Security Services Officers heading towards them in a general direction, walking in a double-column ten Turians deep. Every single one of them was armed and armored like they were walking through New Beijing. It wasn't the first time she was seeing that, and she sincerely doubt that it would be the last. Humans walking to-and-fro through the Wards automatically parted out of the way, which was both smart and wise, but they way they did it… it wasn't common courtesy. It was more like seeing a child shy away from a parents' raised hand, knowing what that hand could do. It set an ugly beat to Val's heart, seeing humans in obvious fear of the Turians. This wasn't cops walking the beat, this was a state police keeping a people down through intimidation and fear, and worse if warranted.

And they got an example of it.

One man, walking in the same direction as the C-SEC patrol, ahead of them and talking to his OmniTool to whomever it was on the other side, hadn't seen the Turians trooping their way through the middle of the Boulevard as if they owned it. Another Human man, seeing what was about to occur, reached out and pull them man out of the way before he was trampled out of the way, but that didn't stop it. The first two Turians on the left-hand side moved with speed and precision, the buttstocks of the Elanus Risk Control Services' M-15 Vindicators spearing forward, striking hard and fast. Both men were struck in their faces, knocking them down to the ground hard, both the man who was walking and the other looking out for him. The Turians hadn't even broken stride, staying in formation as the third and fifth one in the columns kicked the injured men while they were on the ground. Val growled at the sight of the men being struck down, not too different from what she had seen in the horrors of Shanxi. People around the platoon had stopped and stared, yet no one was moving forward to assist the men. The Master-in-Arms could guess why.

"Don't." Stacy grabbed Sam's arm as the Marshal went to move forward, her blue eyes blazing anger as her left hand dipped towards the Smith and Wesson. "Twenty against two plus the surrounding populous. We'll be dead and they'll suffer the repercussions." Collins looked at her with such venom, but it wasn't targeted at the Master Chief. As a Marshal, she had some of the highest authority in all of the Alliance as a law enforcement agent, and a Federal Marshal even higher. Stacy would actually have to think of a Systems Alliance Federal Officer that was higher on the pecking order; Systems Alliance Secret Service, perhaps. To be _powerless_ was a bitter, bitter pill to swallow, and Sam was practically quivering in her own skin, wanting to do something, what she was meant to do, but knowing that Stacy was right.

"It… _hurts_." Collins breathed out, and Val was reminded that sometimes certain activities that most would consider compromising or corrective could be straining for an Autistic, not being able to understand that sometimes doing the good thing and the right thing weren't necessarily the _same_ thing. Catch-22's probably didn't sit well with Sam, someone who proven to be a very black-and-white viewer of things. Sometimes that neurodevelopmental disorder could get the best of her when stressed or when put in a position that she couldn't solve with logic. Here she was, the Federal Marshal for the _Citadel_ , seeing Turians striking human beings, and knowing that Val was right; they were powerless at this moment. "This _cannot_ stand."

"Agreed." Val's tone was no less venomous, anger in every letter and meaning it. She eyed the Turians hard, hard enough that it was a wonder that they didn't get set on fire as they continued marching through the Wards like they owned it. Hell, they did. "For now, we need to pick our battles. We're not going to win with three MP's and a couple of pick-ups that haven't even started yet. We need to come with the thunder, but we need to make sure we have that thunder first. We don't, not yet." Sam was breathing hard, controlling herself, but she slowly nodded, understanding. The anger didn't fade, but it was buried for now.

"Let's check on them." There was no need to explain; the men knocked down and kicked around. Stacy nodded as they moved from their position and more into the central Boulevard as they approached the two fallen men, still on the white Boulevard surface of the Citadel, rolling on the ground and moaning in pain. Sam went to the one who was in the way while Stacy went to the anonymous hero as they both queued up their Samsung BlueTools, the cobalt GUI-holographic different from the standard sunburst orange that normal users had. Stacy had already selected her Medical Diagnostics App, the scanner on her BlueTool already running over the surface of the man who was holding his nose, a fair amount of blood leaking from his hands. She almost didn't need the 'Tool to tell him that his nose was broken, but she wanted to make sure that nothing else in his face was, especially the zygomatic bones that were the cheeks and the upper maxilla bone that surrounded the nasal passage. He might have broken ribs from the vicious kicks from the powerful digitigrade legs of the Turians, Val knowing all too well how hard they could kick. The scanner went over the man for ten seconds as she swept him from head to toe, getting a basic layout of the man's structures; skeletal, musculature, endocrine, lymphatic, and cardiovascular-pulmonary.

"Broken nose is the worst." She told the man, who looked at her with two eyes that were already puffing up and beginning to blacken. "I can fix it now for free, or I can walk you to the nearest clinic." His eyes went to the blue OmniTool hologram surrounding her left arm like a gauntlet, and then to her.

"C-SEC?" The man asked, wearing normal civilian attire for someone out and about for the day, a long shirt made of synthetic weave, and light pants for someone that didn't need to worry about weather.

"Marshal's Deputy." The Master-in-Arms replied, understanding that the man obviously had some trust issues with law enforcement, especially after eating a Vindicator's buttstock. "I know more than enough basic first aid from the Navy as an MP. I've had a boo-boo or two in my time." That came with an all-too-knowing smile, one that didn't touch her brown eyes. It wasn't her that the extensive training and usage of medical response had been for, but for her men. She had lost too many due to wound and situations, often having to listen to a man cry his life away while trying to stem the enemy back, powerless to do anything. "So, set or clinic?"

"Set." The man grimaced slightly as he removed his hands, showing that his nose was lightly crooked. Stacy had to admit the guy had some balls. She took her right hand and gripped the bridge of his nose as the man nodded once, indicating that he was ready as she straightened the nose out with a nice popping noise added to it. The man grunted in pain, but that was it. Tough bastard, and she said as such.

"Well, human lives matter."

"There's that phrase again." Sam commented next to them, having scanned the man who had been on his 'Tool, his face puffy but apparently nothing broken. "What does it mean, besides the obvious?"

"You should talk to the ones who head us." The man replied somewhat cryptically, though his eyes weren't on them, but up towards some of the displays. "Let you gauge it for yourselves if you're interested."

"Okay, we'll bite." Stacy replied. The man queued up his OmniTool and touched it to Stacy's first, not using a network but a direct connection to transfer a small text message. Val was a little surprised by the obvious paranoia, but perhaps that was just the way things were. She didn't like that it had to be this way. Not at all. She looked down at her 'Tool and accepted the transfer with a simple twitch of her forefinger on her left hand, and saw a name and a contact location and time. It was located in the Scows of the 1200 Block, in some address she didn't recognize save that it was near the Backers, where the Block ended. The time was set for the next day, during the evening. The name meant nothing to her, save that the title was 'Alderman'. Still, she memorized it before deleting it.

The man's name was Donnel Udina.

\- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Author's Note: I know that this was probably a hard read, seeing what Nysiana went through. It might look like I am making Turians 'bad guys' but Nihlus has a point; do not judge the whole based upon a few, and do not judge a few based upon the whole. This is really the meat of what this Arc is about.

A few of my readers have mentioned the jurisdictional issues that would most certainly arise with having two police presences in the same location. Yes, this is true. Keep reading, I got this all planned. It will be solved, probably in the exact way you might predict.

Some have also mentioned that Sam and Jane in a relationship that would be construed as an office fraternization. Like… Shep didn't sleep his/her way through all three games? I'm not going that route, of course. The relationship is to help them both grow, but it isn't all sunshine and flowers.

Stacy is growing as a person, someone who is a veteran of a war who now has to work with a member of a species she does not like. I'm liking the growth.

M4, Part 2 - The Faunts, for all those who forgot the music during the credits to the first Mass Effect game. I could have made it elevator music.

Vrock n' Vroll - Not a typo. Current Rock N' Roll… which make up something. Infused? Virtual? Direct link (no ears required)? I might go more into the music scene with clubs and the like because Tali really liked that soundtrack from… how is it I remember Doren the Bartender but not the name of the bar? I shouldn't cheat and look it up, but… ugh! Flux. :p

Armor: To me, having a shield that 'stops' round is nice, but having a shield that 'slows' rounds seems more effective. Lasts longer, and if the armor can take a softer punch and keep going… why not? My philosophy for ME armor is this; the armor is rated to stop a certain amount of force, and the shield will reduce some of that force, meant to 'cushion' some of the blow so it can slow more rounds instead of stopping only a couple. The Kinetic Shields can be changed from as low as 10% to as high as 90%, but this changes how long they will last, and how hard the rounds passing through it hits. Heavier armors are much more expensive, and actually are less capable as it is modulated for protection, not goodies. Light armor is meant for speed and reconnaissance, or long-period missions. Medium is the 'all-purpose' selection, balancing speed and protection, battery life and goodies (like 'Gels and mods). Heavy Armor has high-end protection in both physical and shields, but loses versatility like mods and 'Gels.

Joules - The Metric version of foot-pounds (because you meter-reading people have neither 'feet' nor 'pounds'. What do you walk on and buy shit with, again?). 1 Joule equals about 0.7376 foot-pounds (1 J = lifting a medium-sized tomato one meter straight up, or dropping it straight down upon impact). In a standard 55 gallon (160L) barrel of oil, there is 6 gigaJoules of potential chemical energy. The kinetic energy of a NATO M855 5.56x45mm 4.1 gram round fired at 930 m/s (Colt M16) is at 1,800 J.

SMART City - Exactly as I described it; a monitored array of life that is evolving to be more efficient through the use of scanners, readers, and computer managers. Think of your FICO and Credit Score becoming important in changing the 'value' of not only your house, but also the real estate around you. All those scary stories about being monitored by National Agencies and all-inclusive surveillances monitoring your every move? CLOSER THAN YOU CARE TO THINK! Aren't you glad your SmartPhone is connected to your Twitter account and your SnapChat? #NowhereToRunNowFucker (#FBISurveillanceVan) For a kick? Name your WiFi as that at a Starbucks and watch people jump! :D

BIG BROTHER - George Orwell's classic _1984_. Big Brother was a near-deific socialist leader of Airstrip One (London or England), who monitored its citizenry through the use of cameras, even to the point where the protagonist (Winston Smith) was berated for not stretching out properly in front of his (and everyone's) morning exercise routine when the videoed instructor called him out on it. It is an amazing book, and I've used its Ministries (Plenty, Truth, Peace and Love) as the basis for the Batarian Hegemony (double plus ungood). This might be the first concept of a 'SMART City' through omnipresent surveillance devices and public manipulation. If you've never read this, please do so. At nearly seventy years old (released in 1949), it's more relevant today than when it came out, a future far too close to us now. Ignorance is Strength! War is Peace! Freedom is Slavery! Now where's my Victory-gin?

The young punk? That was Jack. For fashion, of course.

Udina? Oh yes. _That_ Udina.


End file.
